Of General Incivility
by attica
Summary: "From the very first moment I met you, Mr. Malfoy - from the first words you uttered to me without even so much as an attempt to hide your disdain, your arrogance, your conceit - I knew that you would be the last wizard on earth I would ever be prevailed upon to marry." D/Hr, Regency era, adapted from Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice. WIP.
1. Very Eligible Prospects

**Of General Incivility**

 **Disclaimer** : Anything you recognize either belongs to 1) J.K. Rowling 2) Jane Austen 3) the screenwriters of Joe Wright's adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.

 **A/N:** I know that I have absolutely no business starting any new fics, much less one that tries to capture the heat and perfection of Jane Austen's Pride  & Prejudice. I've pretty much seen Joe Wright's Pride & Prejudice (2005) probably a thousand times (I actually had to buy a second disc because the first one stopped working after the first few hundred times of rewatching), and I'd always thought, Wouldn't it be interesting to botch it all up by trying to make DHr fic based on it? Could I ever be so foolish/brave enough to try?

That being said, this is going to vary in places in terms of how closely it sticks to P&P (Austenites beware!). It's set in the same time period as P&P, but I'm definitely taking a few liberties. I still wanted to use most of the main HP characters, which is why some of the events/characters have to be changed/erased/replaced. Sadly, I had to trade in the wonderfully ridiculous and overbearing persona of Mrs. Bennett for a much more chill Mrs. Weasley because I love Mrs. Weasley too much to do that to her.

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"Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love?"

– Jane Austen, _Pride & Prejudice_

ooo

The Burrow was a crowded place full of energy, which meant there was never a still moment. Everywhere, there was chatter and motion, footsteps thudding down the stairs, conversation in the drawing room, yells of activity echoing over from the fields outside. Hermione had grown used to the constant hum of noise, and could even tune it out sometimes - this she considered a most convenient skill - but most days she retreated to the somewhat more tranquil outdoors with a book. She blamed her need for solitude a symptom of having been the only child for most of her life, until her parents had been killed during a violent robbery when they were returning home from town. She'd been just sixteen.

The Weasleys had been kind enough to take her in, having known them through her close childhood friend, Harry Potter. The Weasleys were generous and kind despite their own financial circumstance; the Burrow was not a manor but a simple farmhouse, large yet cramped with its already too many inhabitants, dilapidated and always seemingly groaning with age. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had seven children, with the oldest three boys having gone off to pursue their fortunes and careers. Their names were Bill, Charlie and Percy. That left the four younger Weasleys: Twins Fred and George, Ron, and Ginevra (affectionately called Ginny) the youngest of the Weasley clan. She was the beauty of the family, and just a year younger than Hermione.

Hermione was closest to Ron, who was her and Harry's age, and Ginny, who provided the comfort of having a fellow female to lament with over the small misfortunes of their lives.

There was some excited chatter in the drawing room when Hermione returned from reading outside in the shade. Hermione entered the room to see that Ginny's friends, the two Patil sisters, and Lavender Brown, had come by to visit. Not a rare occasion, by any means. Hermione heard their distinct giggles at least a few times a week. They often came to beguile everyone with the latest gossip from town.

Today was no different. After all, it was a truth universally acknowledged, by Muggle and magical people alike, that a single man in possession of ample fortune must be in perpetual search of a wife. Hermione couldn't fathom how men lived like that. How many sleepless nights, she pondered, did men of such comfort lose over not having a woman smile at them from across their supper to stroke their ego for very average accomplishments?

"It is very exciting news indeed! Netherfield Park has been let at last! The very handsome and very eligible Mr. Zabini is expected to come into town next week from the North, and will be staying there for a month," Lavender announced, almost beside herself with excitement. "Five thousand Galleons a year!"

Parvati leaned in. "That's not all!" she exclaimed. "His dear friend, Mr. Draco Malfoy, will be accompanying him. He is also unattached." Parvati's eyes scanned the room, wildly. "Ten thousand a year!"

"Ten thousand?" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. She looked like she might faint. The Patil sisters giggled.

Hermione began to shake her head, which caught the eye of Lavender, who narrowed her eyes at her.

"It seems Hermione is less than impressed. Pray tell, Hermione - what would pry you away from those dusty pages of yours?"

"A giant library," one of the Patil sisters laughed.

"That would certainly help," Hermione said. "But a library, no matter the size, could ever make up for the character of a man."

"What does it matter his character for ten thousand Galleons a year! He could be a furry beast in silk stockings and I wouldn't hesitate to be his wife."

"I know you wouldn't," Hermione muttered, and Ron, who was sitting beside her, coughed back his laugh.

"It's certainly extraordinary for you to keep such high standards," Lavender sneered. "You – a Muggleborn orphan with no dowry to speak of, relying on the generosity of the Weasleys. You're of age, Hermione, and soon you'll be too old to be considered a true prospect. If you were truly smart, you'd lower your standards from imaginary literary figures. Perhaps then you won't end up a poor spinster."

"Lavender," Ron sighed. "Leave her alone, will you?"

"It's the truth," Lavender said. "She receives no benefit by keeping her circumstance silent."

"Girls, girls," Mrs. Weasley interjected, standing up. "Let's remember our manners, please. Thank you for bringing this news to us, as usual. I have a letter to write to my sister. Will you be staying for supper?"

ooo

There was a little nook inside the Burrow that Hermione sometimes liked to sit in and read. It was next to a window, which provided ample natural light during the daytime, and next to Mr. Weasley's study. She'd discovered some time ago that hearing the quiet rustles of Mr. Weasley working in his study soothed her. She hadn't yet figured out why.

She retired there soon after the conversation in the drawing room, despite having caught Ginny's pleading look for her to stay. The Patil sisters and Lavender were tolerable on their good days, mostly on days that did not involve wealthy, eligible wizards. Hermione would happily boast of having had a few decent conversations with them each. Today was not one of those days.

Hermione paused her reading when she heard two muffled voices in the study.

"Mr. Weasley, considering the news brought to us today, I do think it might be prudent for Ginny and Hermione to meet Mr. Zabini or Mr. Malfoy. No doubt, with news this size, all of the families with single, of-age daughters in the next counties over and in town are making similar plans."

"I thought you had to write your sister a letter," Mr. Weasley said, amusedly.

Mrs. Weasley's voice became firmer. "If you harbor any affection for me, Mr. Weasley, or have felt any inkling of joy within these thirty years of matrimony, then you will find a way to have our girls meet them. Single men of such wealth rarely come with such opportunity in these parts. Both Ginny and Hermione are approaching the end of their marriageable years - Hermione, most especially."

"You've heard Hermione. She'd far much rather prefer an intelligent conversation about philosophy than a small-minded suitor with deep pockets."

"That very may will be, but she is a young girl, and we are her guardians. We can barely muster enough money for Ginny's dowry - how could we even think of hers? What her parents left her was only enough to buy her a few nice dresses. The books they left her of any value, she refuses to sell. The poor girl's been dealt an unfortunate hand. We're all she has, and we must think of her future. She is a smart, wonderful girl. She deserves better than a life fraught with worry and hunger."

Hermione felt a pang in her heart. She knew that Mrs. Weasley was far too kind to ever say such things in front of her. She was right. The Weasleys barely enough money to keep the Burrow upright (every year it slanted a little more to the left), let alone have money for their children to lure in marital prospects.

"But of course," Mr. Weasley murmured. "Which is why I've already paid Netherfield a visit. The girls will be introduced to Mr. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy next week at the ball."

There was the sound of movement, before she heard Mrs. Weasley's muffled exclamation, an affectionate reprimand. "Oh Mr. Weasley!"

Hermione smiled to herself. How she adored the Weasleys.

"Best tell the girls to air out their best gowns. I shall leave that to your expertise, as I simply do not have the appropriate manner of discernment when it comes to the latest fashions in town."

ooo

"Are you nervous?"

Hermione looked up from her book of practicing spells at Harry and Ron, who were floating in midair on their brooms. They casually tossed around an old, weathered ball. The sun was setting behind them, casting a golden glow on their faces.

"Nervous about what?" Hermione asked.

"Nervous about the ball tomorrow," Harry said. "And ensnaring your future husband with his five thousand Galleons a year."

"That's only if she can't beguile the one that makes twice as much," Ron laughed.

"That's right. Could you imagine? Netherfield Hall, full of scheming ladies, determined to wed one of two eligible prospects. Feathers and pearls flying everywhere. It'll be a bloodbath."

"No," Hermione said, giving them a look. "I'm not nervous."

"But of course you aren't!" Harry exclaimed.

"Perhaps if he wrote words across his forehead, you'd find him more interesting."

"And annotations. The lady doth love her annotations."

"There I cannot argue with you. If men were more like books, I'd hold them to much higher regard, and possibly even find them tolerable. At least a person can learn from books. Men are too concerned with their own vanity to spend any of their energy on self-reflection or growth."

Harry and Ron laughed again. "Your disdain for the opposite sex and marriage is precisely what makes you such a pleasure to be around."

"You paint me with too broad a stroke, Harry. It's not marriage I disdain," Hermione stated, simply. "It's marriage without love. Marriage for anything else than love - wealth, material comforts, the fear of dying alone."

"I do love it when you turn all morbid," Ron grinned. "But you're living in a fantasy world, Hermione. Marriage is about utility. You're lucky if you can even carry on a conversation when you're alone. Sometimes, love comes after. Look at my parents. They love each other to death, but they didn't start out that way. I'm sure your Muggle parents were the same. Harry's, too."

Hermione shook her head. "Just because it's the way it is, doesn't mean it has to be that way."

Harry and Ron burst into laughter again. Not mockingly, but tenderly. "Finding Hermione Granger a husband. I do believe we'll enjoy this very much, Ron."

ooo

Netherfield hall was a breathtaking place. Roomy, sweeping corridors, elegant furnishings and high, classic architecture - certainly not a location Hermione thought she would find herself visiting often (if ever again) in the future. Upon entering, she found herself caught between a gape and a dismissive scoff. It was too easy to find expensive things pretty, she knew, but she was rarely allowed to be in the presence of such extravagance.

As instructed, she'd worn her best gown and promised she wouldn't be quite so inclined to dislike everyone who warranted it. At least, not quite so blatantly.

She recognized many people from town and the nearby counties. Women, lots of women - all in their best gowns, with wistful, ambitious eyes. Hermione wondered if she would blend in with them in the crowd. There was nothing particularly distinct about her - brown hair, brown eyes, a plain, slender figure. Someone had remarked once about her eyes, but it was long ago enough that Hermione found it to be of little reassurance. It was just as well. She'd decided that she would be compliant today to a point - she would dance and act pleasant for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's sakes, but not to the lengths of desperation. She was not here to find a husband. She was only here to make _Mr. and Mrs. Weasley_ think she was.

Hermione walked through the crowd next to Ginny, who had already turned the heads of a few gentlemen. It was no secret that Ginny was very beautiful. Her vibrant red hair brought out her pale blue eyes, which only further complimented a fair, classically striking face. If Hermione was the gambling sort - that is, if she'd had any money at her disposal to do so - she would have bet that Ginny would leave the ball tonight with at least one of the men's hearts, if not both.

"Rest assured, Ginny," Hermione muttered to her. "Even if you don't happen to bewitch Mr. Zabini tonight - which would be a shock to us all - from the looks of it, one of these wizards will happily propose marriage to you."

"Oh, hush, Hermione," Ginny said, flushing.

"You're far too modest for someone of your beauty."

"And you take too much joy in embarrassing me."

"Again - the fact that honest statements about your physical appeal should embarrass you is only a testament to your own ignorance in how people perceive you."

"If only you'd take care to compliment others the way you compliment me, Hermione, perhaps-"

"I only compliment those who deserve it. Far too many expect compliments for doing nothing worth complimenting."

"Then at least," Ginny said, giving her a look, "try to be pleasant, please. For me."

"I've already agreed to be pleasant. But I won't be pleasant if it means being disingenuous."

"Very well then. I believe I've no other choice than to accept that. Come, Papa's waving us over right over there."

Ginny and Hermione made their way over to where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood with a tall, handsome man. He had olive skin, dark hair, and even darker eyes. He smiled when he first laid eyes on Ginny, and Hermione, ever the observant one, had a feeling this would be something special, indeed.

"Mr. Zabini, as mentioned, this is my daughter Ginevra, and our ward, Hermione Granger. Hermione and Ginny, this is Mr. Blaise Zabini of Netherfield Hall."

Mr. Zabini bowed to them both. His smile appeared wide and genuine. Hermione was both relieved and surprised to find him quite amiable at first impression.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've been lucky to have met very many pleasant people since my stay here at Netherfield. I can already imagine it may be difficult to leave such hospitality and kindness."

"Holding a ball here is certainly another sort of hospitality to behold," Hermione said. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ginny send her an approving smile. "I've heard rumors of an impressive library here at Netherfield. Can you confirm such whisperings?"

"It's certainly very large, and full of some intimidating tomes," Blaise said, politely. "Unfortunately I can't speak to it much, since I prefer being outdoors. Not as to say I dislike reading-"

Ginny was nodding. "There's just always so much else to do," she agreed.

"But - ah! Malfoy would be able to tell you all about it, I'm sure."

A man appeared next to Mr. Zabini's side, a faint scowl on his face. Standing next to Mr. Zabini, the contrast between them was quite stark. They were both tall, handsome, carried themselves with the invisible authority of being highborn, and dressed impeccably in the latest men's fashions, but Mr. Malfoy had pale skin and hair so blond it was almost white. Hermione almost shivered at how ethereal he looked. He reminded her of the Greek myths she'd read about. He had piercing gray eyes that, unfortunately, didn't do much to soften an unfriendly expression.

"This is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, this is Mr. and Mrs. Weasley of the Burrow. This is their daughter, Ginny, and their ward, Hermione Granger," Blaise said, warmly.

Malfoy's eyes briefly met hers as he bowed. "Pleasure," he greeted, stoically. He radiated with none of the friendliness his dear friend did.

"Malfoy here is quite the connoisseur when it comes to books and libraries. He's an avid reader and collector of rare books." Zabini nodded to Hermione. "I'm sure you two would have much to talk about."

"I'd be pleased to hear your thoughts on your favorite books, Mr. Malfoy," she said. She said this almost too excitedly. It wasn't often she came across another who loved to read.

Malfoy's eyes passed over her again, but quickly and dismissively. "I don't believe our current surroundings would be conducive to a conversation about literature."

It was the way he looked at the people in the room as he said "surroundings" - common wizards and witches from the country - that irked Hermione. Her initial enthusiasm quickly disappeared. She could feel the arrogance coming off of him in waves.

"Surroundings? I don't believe I know what you mean," she said, innocently.

"Malfoy merely means that it's such a social, jovial atmosphere," Blaise said, "and the dancing should start soon, so the music might hinder-"

Malfoy didn't take very kindly to his friend's attempt to paint him in a more pleasant light, and didn't allow him to finish. "I can't claim to see any other soul here besides you that might actually enjoy the act of reading for intellectual stimulation, much less conversing about it."

Hermione blinked at him. Had he really just so unabashedly insulted everyone here in the room, in front of her, the Weasleys, and his friend?

"I wasn't aware your magical abilities were so extraordinary," Hermione quipped, "that you could correctly discern the leisurely pastimes of people you had never laid eyes on before this evening."

A shocked silence came over the group. Malfoy's steely eyes, at her remark, were now on hers. Hermione held it for a moment, defiantly, before looking away, her chin held high.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Well, erm, as Mr. Zabini said, the dancing should be starting soon, which I'm sure the ladies would enjoy after sitting in a carriage for so long."

Blaise could barely take his eyes off of Ginny. Hermione wasn't even sure if he was aware Hermione had just insulted his friend. "Of course. Miss Weasley, I'd be honored if you'd have the first dance with me."

Ginny smiled and took his hand, with Zabini leading her out to the dance floor. Rather than be left alone with Malfoy, Hermione briskly curtsied. "Please excuse me," she said, and turned around and walked back into the crowd, eager to be as far away from the very wealthy, very vile Draco Malfoy as quickly as possible.

ooo

Hermione danced one dance with Mr. Zabini, during which he gushed about Ginny. When he was not going on about how funny, kind, and beautiful Ginny was, he was asking Hermione questions about her. What did she like to do? What were her favorite flowers? Had she traveled far outside of the Burrow? Hermione gladly answered his questions. It seemed the more he learned about her, the wider his smile grew. Yes, Hermione thought. He could very well be head over heels for Ginny tonight!

If Hermione could not secure her own future during this ball, then at least she could help in securing Ginny's.

Throughout the evening, she noticed that Malfoy did not dance with anyone except for a woman she had never seen before – despite the many attempts of the Patil sisters and Lavender Brown to engage him in conversation. The woman was dressed in fine clothes, had dark, jet black hair and, like Malfoy, carried a displeased countenance. Since the moment Hermione had noticed her, her expression had not changed once - it was as if she continuously smelled something foul. She observed that they kept close to each other, although there appeared to be no warmth between them while they talked or danced. At one point, Zabini joined their group, and they talked for a few minutes. Hermione caught the woman's gaze move towards Ginny, who had agreed to a dance with Dean Thomas. The mystery woman appeared quite unimpressed and made no effort to hide it.

"Who is that tragically unhappy woman over there?" Hermione asked Ron and Harry.

"That's Pansy Parkinson," replied Ron, his mouth still full of pie. "Arrived with Zabini and Malfoy. Just as wealthy as the both of them, apparently. She's Zabini's cousin."

"I don't think it's Ginny she dislikes," Hermione said. "I think it's everything."

"I always find it odd that it's the wealthy ones that seem so discontent all the time," Harry mused. "At least, their faces do."

" _You're_ wealthy," Hermione said. Harry, like Hermione, was also an orphan. He had been a ward of his uncle, Sirius Black, until he came of age and his uncle passed away. However, Harry, unlike Hermione, had been left a very generous inheritance by his parents. He was safe from the inconvenience of having to court someone based on the size of their dowry. "And you're perfectly happy."

"Only on the outside," Harry grinned.

Hermione danced once with Harry and another with Ron, both having trampled all over her toes. She wandered out onto the terrace, overlooking the acres of neat, kempt grass and manicured bushes of Netherfield hall. She sat down on the stone bench on a far side of the terrace, taking off her shoes to rub her aching toes. She brandished her wand, contemplating a numbing charm.

Hermione froze when she heard footsteps and voices enter the terrace.

"Come on, Malfoy. It reflects poorly if you and Pansy don't even attempt to engage in mixed company all evening. There are plenty of perfectly handsome women here, many of which are standing on the sidelines, waiting for a gentleman to ask them to dance."

She recognized that voice. It was Zabini. Hermione pressed herself against the wall, hiding. Thankfully, she was in an alcove, so it was unlikely they'd catch her listening unless they came around the corner.

"That may be so, but I don't feel quite up to the mood to making small talk with country witches. You're wasting your time out here lecturing me, Zabini. Best to go back inside and see how many more dances you can have with Miss Weasley before the night is over."

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Not just beautiful - funny, and kind. She's well-mannered and even-tempered and interesting. I don't think I've met anyone like her, Malfoy. I certainly haven't felt like this for anyone else before."

She could hear a frown in Malfoy's drawl. "Unfortunately, it appears you've been revealed as the victim of Cupid's bad, winged aim tonight. It's just as Pansy suspected. She won't be happy."

"Oh, forget about Pansy. I saw the way you looked at Miss Granger. I daresay she's witty enough to keep up with your unpleasantries and put you in your place," Blaise chuckled. "She's quite agreeable herself."

"Her manners are unorthodox," Malfoy agreed. "And she is clearly intelligent, for a Mudblood. As of her looks, they are tolerable, but not enough to tempt me." Hermione gasped silently. Malfoy quickly changed the subject, as the music stopped and the faint applause rang throughout the hall. "The song is over. If you desire another chance to bask in the presence of Miss Weasley, you'd do well to hurry. You're not the only man with eyes on her tonight."

She heard their footsteps retreat, and their voices become quieter.

"Don't you dare mock me, Malfoy – but I think she fancies me," she heard him say, softly.

"Zabini, she's a Weasley. Their estate - if it should even deserve the title - is named _the Burrow_. It's in her best interest to fancy you. Her and the other sad, desperate women at this ball."

Hermione waited to hear more, her rage silently boiling, eager to hear what Blaise would have said to his friend after such undeservedly cruel words. But there was nothing. They had gone back inside.

ooo

Ginny's eyes were far away as she very slowly brushed her hair, as if in a trance.

Hermione chuckled to herself, entering their bedroom. "You, my dear friend, look ridiculous."

Ginny blinked, lowering her hairbrush. "Do I?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. She got into the covers beside her friend, her own hair loose and in frizzy, untamed curls. It was a relief to be out of that corset. Even with all of the enchantments and charms Hermione had applied to make wearing a ball gown less torturous, a corset was still a corset. Even magic couldn't change that.

"You've had that silly smile on your face since we left Netherfield. If I recall correctly, a certain Mr. Zabini was also wearing one of similar happiness."

Ginny's brows furrowed, suddenly concerned. "Do you truly believe he liked me, Hermione?"

"Ginny," she said. "The poor fellow stumbled over his feet while he danced with you because he couldn't stop staring at you long enough to focus. It was dreadfully obvious. It's lucky he's so rich or his reputation as a love struck man would spread far and wide in town and would surely wound his fragile masculinity."

Her face softened. "Hermione, you know that wealth has never been something I actively sought in a man—"

"Which makes it all the more convenient for you to find such a happy match in Mr. Zabini. It's very clear that he has done what many men have tried and failed to do – he has captured your elusive affections." Hermione smiled. "Of course, it's only obvious to me. I'm privy to the secret moments you smile to yourself like a drunken buffoon. It's one of the rare pleasures in my life."

"Oh, Hermione. I had such high hopes for you – that perhaps you and Mr. Malfoy would perhaps get along. It seemed promising, at first. And then – oh, I still can't believe he said that about you. How could someone utter such a thing?"

Hermione looked away. She hadn't told Ginny the entirety of what she'd heard out there on the terrace. She'd only divulged what Malfoy had said about her, not what Malfoy had said about Ginny and the Burrow. Hermione was often rigid in her honesty, but revealing that would have been cruel. And she'd had enough of cruel words for the evening.

"I don't take any joy in revealing to you the wicked nature of most people, Ginny. Malfoy is highborn and wealthy, of which he is plainly aware. Poor common folk don't dare invade a mere whisper of his thoughts. Secondly, he's a blood purist. I hear it's all the rage these days."

It was true. This was another reason she held such gratitude for the Weasleys. It was practically unheard of for a Pureblood family to take in a Muggleborn, but they had, without hesitation.

Ginny was still frowning. "I still find that very hard to believe. There must be a reason he was so crude. Perhaps he'd just received some bad news."

"Some men are simply without their merits," Hermione sighed. She turned over, closing her eyes. She tried to forget the face of the man who had, in a single evening, insulted almost everyone she had ever known, including herself. "A special few more repugnantly so than others. Good night, Ginny."

"Good night, Hermione." With a whisper, the light went out.

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Please review if you're feeling so inclined! xo!


	2. Meet Me at Moony's

Short chapter before a busy weekend! Thank you to everyone whose read and reviewed! It's always a little nerve-wracking to post something that's based on something so beloved, so I'm grateful for all of the encouragement.

I'm not that awesome with Regency-speak, so forgive me my flubs, for I'm sure there will be many. In this chapter we'll be reintroduced to a few more beloved HP characters…

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

The next morning dawned bright and early for a select few at the Burrow.

"Good morning, dear sister," Fred and George greeted in unison as Ginny came down the stairs for breakfast. They were both smiling impishly. "Sleep well last night?"

Ron joined in. "Were your dreams plagued by the handsome Mr. Blaise Zabini and his five thousand a year smile?"

Fred and George got up from their seats despite the protests of Mrs. Weasley. They connected hands, beginning to dance with each around the table. Hermione and Ron laughed as Fred pretended to hold up his invisible skirt as they twirled.

"Oh Mr. Zabini! How sublime you smell!" Fred said, in a mock female voice.

"My lady, that is because I import only the finest from France! Unicorn tears and the sweat of Hellebore, cultivated only under the morning sun, for midmorning sun is for peasants and commoners!"

George attempted to dip Fred, much to everyone's amusement. Their legs were too long and gangly for any sort of coordinated grace.

"My lady Ginevra Weasley, have I captured your heart as you have captured mine?" they continued.

"But of course! Drown me with pearls, diamonds, the finest minks! I say yes! Yes, I proclaim it so to the world!"

Hermione and Ron began to clap. "Bravo!" Ron yelled. Ginny was flush with humiliation, Mrs. Weasley was disappointed albeit clearly amused with the early morning theater from her sons, and Mr. Weasley was clapping slowly and unenthusiastically. The sort of applause of someone who had seen such a thing too many times before.

"Have you no consideration for the feelings of your sister?" Mrs. Weasley scolded. "All before she's had her breakfast! How could I have raised such sons so scornful of daily decorum is beyond me."

"It's to keep her humble, Mama," George grinned. "Dearest Ginevra may have come from meager beginnings-"

"-but an opportunity like this might inflate her ego," Fred finished. "And as her wise older brothers, it is our sacred duty to make sure she doesn't forget-"

"-that she is still Weasley, and marrying into affluence doesn't exempt one from the wary, unblinking eyes of older brothers Fred and George."

"And Ron," Ron added, frowning.

"And Ron," Fred and George agreed.

Ginny poured herself some tea. Ginny was prone to embarrassment, but never seemed to grow irritated or exasperated with the tomfoolery of her older brothers, even when their jokes were at her own expense.

Mr. Weasley was looking at his family. "Have my ears aged overnight? Has there been a proposal I've not been made aware of?"

"No, Papa," Ginny said, quickly. "Which is why I beseech everyone not to make such a fuss. Mr. Zabini and I shared a few dances at the ball last night, that is all."

"A few dances?" Ron snorted. "I thought both of your feet would catch fire. Ginny, you hardly ever sat down."

"We should be cautious to equate a night of dancing to a marriage proposal," Hermione said, even though she was sure Mr. Zabini would propose in good time. She had never been around a man in love so she could not base it on previous study, but Mr. Zabini was a good first example. "Many have been made fools for much less."

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said. "Now can we please talk about something else? Surely one of you had some stories from the ball last night."

"The herbologist's nephew is coming into town to visit," Mr. Weasley announced. "He should be arriving sometime today. We should be expecting to have him around for dinner soon as I'm sure he'll be wanting to make your acquaintance. I hear," he muttered, turning the page in his Daily Prophet, "that he, too, is in search of a wife."

Ginny glanced at Hermione, as did Mrs. Weasley. Hermione finished her tea and excused herself from the table. "I've got lessons at Moony's. I'll return later this afternoon."

It was a pleasant day, so Hermione walked to town instead of Apparating. She was grateful for the sunshine and peace, despite the fact that she spent most of it fuming. Another eligible bachelor for them to throw Hermione's way! Would it never end? How exhilarating would be to live in a world that fixed its energies on something more worthwhile than securing a husband for every unattached woman in country limits!

There was also the matter of Mr. Draco Malfoy. She'd slept little last night, bothered by his remarks. The night had kept replaying itself in her mind, taunting her. How could a man be so callous? So condescending to people he barely knew? Never before had she met someone who incensed her so much - she almost refused to give him the credit for taking up so much of her thoughts. He deserved never to be thought of, by anyone.

If Mr. Zabini did propose marriage to Ginny, she hoped Ginny wouldn't be forced to spend any time in Mr. Draco Malfoy's presence than was necessary. Then again, Ginny was a far gentler in her opinions, and never found herself inclined to despise anyone. Even if Malfoy would offend her - which he most definitely would - Ginny would simply assume it wasn't personal and instead be concerned for him. This incensed her further. After his behavior, Draco Malfoy deserved nobody's concern, much less Ginevra Weasley's.

Hermione hadn't realized she was walking faster than usual, lost in her thoughts. She finally made it to town, crossing into the main road. She was thrown out of her head when she heard shouts and commotion. She looked to her left and saw a wayward wagon barreling down the road at a fast speed.

Hermione suddenly noticed a man having frozen in the middle of the road, his face fixed with horror. The wagon would surely hit him and kill him. Hermione leapt over, quickly brandishing her wand.

"Arresto momentum!"

The wagon's speed slowed to a crawl. Hermione rushed over to the man in the middle of the road, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to the side, out of the way.

With full view of his face, she realized he was not much older than her. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Y-yes. Just waiting for the feeling to return to my legs," he mumbled. He was pale with dark hair and freckles. With a pair of spectacles, he'd resemble Harry. "Thank you. I had my wand, and I meant to do a spell, but when I saw it coming straight towards me-"

"That's all right, it takes practice to have a quick draw," she reassured him. They looked back up at the wagon. Its owners had come to claim it. The rope had snapped, which was what had triggered its escape.

"Thank you, again, Miss-?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she said, bowing. She pointed over to the shop on the corner. "I teach lessons sometimes at Moony's."

He bowed, albeit shakily. "I am indebted to you, Miss Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I do wish it had been under different circumstances. I am Neville Longbottom. I'm in town visiting my uncle."

Hermione bid Mr. Longbottom farewell and headed into the shop Mrs. Lupin already had the children in peals of laughter. A pig's snout appeared on her face, then disappeared. Then dragon eyes.

"Oh, Miss Granger! That's enough for today, children. You'll need your energy for your lessons."

The children dispersed and took their seats on the floor, their wands in their hands. Hermione gave them all a big smile. "Hello everyone. I'm glad to see all of your faces. The spell we're learning today is Arresto Momentum. Can anybody guess what that does?"

ooo

Moony's was a small shop in the corner of town owned by Mr. Remus Lupin and his wife, Nymphadora. They sold specialized items for spells and potions, but they also held lessons on spells and enchantments for the local children. Hermione had first been brought on as an apprentice for Mrs. Lupin, to help her around the shop, until Mr. Lupin had gotten a job as a professor at Hogwarts and she needed help teaching the lessons. Mr. Lupin had been adamant about the continuing the lessons to the children in his absence. Only highborn and privileged children were allowed to be educated at Hogwarts, although Mr. Lupin often wrote that he had high hopes that would someday change to include everyone of every status.

The lessons were cheap since the children's parents could not afford much, and most of the money went to Mrs. Lupin for the upkeep of the shop. What little money Hermione had often went to buying new books to further her magical education, and whatever was left over she saved or used to help purchase food for the Weasleys.

Still, Hermione was grateful for the Lupins. Apprenticeships for poor witches were hard to come by. She enjoyed teaching the children - they were rudimentary spells and charms, of course. But it also motivated her to broaden her knowledge of magic, especially after the incident this morning with the wagon. What would have happened to that man if she hadn't come by? No one else, it seemed, had been paying attention.

After the children left, Hermione started to catalog the new items in the shop. She heard the chime of the bells at the shop door.

"Hermione! Look who it is I had the fortune of running into just down the road."

It was Ginny, and standing behind her were Mr. Blaise Zabini and Mr. Draco Malfoy. Hermione felt something fiery ignite at the pit of her stomach, but forced the forthcoming growl from her throat into a tone of civility.

"What a surprise to see you again so soon," she greeted, mostly to Mr. Zabini. "I take it you gentlemen had business in town?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Blaise. "We crossed paths with Ginny and she happened to mention to us that you teach lessons here. It's a very charming shop, indeed."

Hermione noticed Malfoy's eyes skimming the place, his face unsurprisingly stoic.

"It's a fine place," she agreed. "And the children are eager students. Although I can't say their lessons would rival those at Hogwarts."

Blaise smiled gently. "Something is better than nothing. The effort here is nothing short of admirable. I'm sure the children appreciate it more than you know."

Hermione turned to the other man. "And you, Mr. Malfoy? I suspect you have thoughts on the matter. At least, according to your quizzical brow."

He pressed his lips together, meeting her gaze. "It's unfair to compare charms lessons to country children sitting on a shop floor to Hogwarts," he said. "Hogwarts is one of the finest magical institutions in Europe."

Hermione almost smiled. Clearly, he was challenging her. How odious he was! "One of the finest, to be sure. But not perfect."

Malfoy handsomely furrowed his brow. "In what way?"

"The fine educators and resources of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are only available to Purebloods born with a silver spoon in their mouths - families who could easily afford a private tutor. If we are all magical beings, and thus inherently capable of magical abilities, doesn't the knowledge of such belong to everyone, and not just the privileged few? It does not advance society to allow only those who can afford it to hoard the study and skill set and of an ability that is born to us all naturally."

Blaise began to chuckle, seemingly impressed. "The lady does have a point, Malfoy."

"It's a flawed opinion," Malfoy said, curtly. "Plagued by country ignorance."

"Country ignorance?" she scoffed. "I was not aware ignorance varied by geographical location."

"If Hogwarts opened its doors to every witch and wizard, its resources would unquestionably deplete and there would be none left for anyone. The school would cease to exist as we know it. What good would it do anyone then?"

"I am afraid that question goes beyond me, Mr. Malfoy. But I daresay I'm not too fraught over not having that answer – after all, if Hogwarts really is as fine as you say, with the most brilliant of Europe's magical minds, then I'm sure they would be able to think of something to prevent Hogwarts from falling into ruin all the while still promoting a legacy of inclusivity and unity." Hermione gave him a triumphant smirk. "After all, it'd be such a shame to ignore the possibilities that could arise, should the question be posed - with so many capable minds in one room. Would you not also agree?"

There was a satisfying echo of silence as Malfoy just looked at her. It was not an expression of shock or astonishment – rather one of concentration, as if he was trying to read her, but was doing so with great difficulty. Hermione relished the idea that perhaps at this moment she could very well be the most difficult thing he'd ever encountered in his life.

"You must impress everyone you meet with your talent in conversation, Miss Granger," Zabini said. "In all my years, I've never seen anyone stun Malfoy into silence."

"Then perhaps you ought to challenge yourselves to keep company you otherwise may not," she said. "It is in diverse company I stumble upon the conversations that are the most beneficial and eye-opening." She glanced back at Malfoy, who was now in a full scowl. "That is, if your pride is up to it."

"Perhaps one day," Blaise said. "A pleasure as always, Miss Granger." He bowed to her, and she bowed to him back. Malfoy also bowed, but had stormed out of the shop before she had finished bowing back to him.

"I hope to see you again soon, Miss Weasley," Blaise said with a smile.

She and Ginny watched the shop door swing shut behind them, spying their heads through the glass window. Malfoy and Blaise had stopped and were talking. Blaise appeared to be laughing, with Malfoy in considerably lesser cheerful spirits. Then they turned and walked past the window, out of their sight.

"Can we be terribly sure Mr. Zabini didn't come into town just for a chance to run into you?" Hermione mused aloud. "It seems far too happy of a coincidence."

"He was leaving the Owlery when we spotted each other," Ginny sighed. "Oh I do wish you'd go a little gentler on poor Mr. Malfoy, Hermione. I almost pity the man."

"I think the entire universe has been too gentle on Mr. Malfoy his whole life, Ginny," Hermione said, going back to her cataloging. "It escapes me how else a gentleman could reach adulthood with such a foul personality unless he's never around someone brave enough to check him. I suppose having money makes you impervious to common decency. Your pity is better directed elsewhere."

"He and Mr. Zabini have been friends since infancy. He only ever speaks so highly of him."

"Then perhaps he is under an enchantment."

"Oh Hermione. The thoughts you entertain in that mind of yours are nothing short of scandalous."

"That's the closest to a reprimand I'll ever get from you. I'm beginning to suspect that you and Mr. Zabini are too similar in nature."

"How do you mean?"

"You're both too kind to see people as they truly are."

"That's not true, Hermione. Mr. Malfoy isn't the warmest fellow, even I can admit that."

"Ginny, even ice would shiver around him. The man is practically glacial."

Ginny sighed. "It's no point in arguing with you, Hermione. I've known you far too long to pretend that I stand any chance in changing your mind. Now will you hurry? They expect us back soon at the Burrow."

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Please review!


	3. Good Intentions of Miss Lavender Brown

A/N: Thanks for all of the reads and reviews! Also! A friendly reminder that I am in no way fluent in Regency-speak or Regency manners. I would hate for anybody to get that impression. ;) I am a child of the times, ya'll.

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

An owl came for Ginny just a few short days after her happy encounter with Mr. Zabini in town in the hand of his cousin, Miss Pansy Parkinson. She wrote to request Ginny's presence for a friendly visit at Netherfield Hall at her earliest convenience. This piece of news was met with much jubilation at the Burrow – though interlaced with the usual affectionate mockery from Fred and George that Ginny's promising new situation could seemingly not escape.

Lavender Brown, who had been all too enthusiastically coaching Ginny on how to best make herself indispensible to Mr. Zabini, frowned. "What can she mean that dear Mr. Zabini will not be present for your visit?"

"Perhaps he is detained," Ginny said, her eyes quickly rereading the letter. There was a faint flicker of disappointment on her face that she quickly concealed. "Mr. Zabini is a busy man with many acquaintances and hobbies. When I last saw him, he and Mr. Malfoy were in town visiting many of the businesses, even in the outlying counties."

"Yes," Hermione smiled. "Far be it from Ginny's character to demand Mr. Zabini to dote upon her at every available opportunity."

Ginny flushed, standing up. "I must get ready. She'll be expecting me within the hour."

Lavender also got to her feet. "Ginny, I wish to see you off before you go to give you a few more bits of advice. I've forgotten to purchase something at the herbologist's for my mother. Will you wait for me before departing?"

Ginny nodded, telling her that she would, and both girls exited the room. Lavender hastily made her way out of the door of the Burrow, and Hermione found herself thinking that in all of her years here, she had never seen Lavender make such a quick exit. On the contrary, most days, Lavender lingered a little too long in the Weasleys' abode for her comfort.

True to her word, she returned a short time later just as Ginny was finishing with her hair. Lavender brought her up a cup of tea. "Have a few sips, Ginny darling. You look ill at ease. I brewed this especially for you, with jasmine flowers. It'll calm your nerves and brighten up your complexion. Now remember, you must also charm his cousin. Word has it she is very close to Mr. Zabini on all matters personal, as is Mr. Malfoy. It would be in your benefit that they too find you charming and a beauteous addition to their family."

"If they had any sense about them at all, they would see that Ginny is a rose among the thorns, and that even in high society she has no equal," Hermione said.

Ginny was nevertheless grateful for the gesture and had a few sips of the tea. Afterwards, she made her way down the stairs to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"I trust you'll behave accordingly, dearest Ginny," Mr. Weasley said. "While I am sure Miss Brown here has filled your head with such pressures in impressing the elegant Miss Parkinson, you are a kindhearted, gentle girl. You will still be as such even if Miss Parkinson refuses to give you her approval."

"Do tell her we send greetings to her and her party," Mrs. Weasley said, pulling Ginny in for a tight hug.

"See you later this evening, everyone," Ginny said, giving one last reassuring smile, before Disapparating.

It wasn't a minute later after Ginny disappeared that Lavender began giggling to herself in the hallway. They all regarded her with confusion.

"Lavender, are you ill?" Mr. Weasley asked, alarmed.

"Not I, Mr. Weasley," she said, through her laughter. "Oh, fine. I suspect this will have to be revealed, sooner or later – the sooner the better, so that you can shower me with your gratitude whilst I am still here."

Hermione felt fresh dread appear at the bottom of her stomach. "What sort of silliness have you been up to, Lavender?"

"I picked up something at the herbologist's greenhouse this morning and added it to Ginny's tea, that is all. Something to sustain her visit to give Mr. Zabini a fair chance to fall even more in love with her. After all, the absurdity that Ginny visit at Netherfield and not exchange one word with Mr. Zabini is ridiculous."

They all gaped at the audacity of one Miss Lavender Brown. "Dear Heavens, Lavender. What have you done?"

"Oh, take care, Hermione," Lavender said sourly. "T'was nothing serious. Just something to make her feel ill so that she'll have to stay the night. It needs no cure and will pass in a few days without any meddling."

Hermione ran over to get her wand. "I must go to her immediately."

Mrs. Weasley grabbed her gently by the arm. "Hermione dear, I fear in this situation, the best thing would be to just leave it be."

"But Mrs. Weasley! Lavender's meddling may very well humiliate Ginny-"

"I fear it'll be even more obvious if you arrived there to warn her," Mrs. Weasley said, solemnly. It was obvious she, too, was not happy with Lavender's methods. "I would rather not have it revealed to Mrs. Parkinson that any sorts of wily schemes were being conjured here. It might ruin Ginny's chances with Mr. Zabini, not to mention the whispers that would spread quickly about our family. It may be best if we simply act as if Ginny has just become abruptly unwell due to natural, unavoidable circumstances without our knowledge."

Seeing Mrs. Weasley's point – and not wanting to disrespect her by refusing her wishes – Hermione relented. "Very well. But if we should receive a request from Ginny-"

"Then you are welcome join her at Netherfield Hall to see to it that she is on the proper road to recovery," Mrs. Weasley smiled. "As for you, Miss Brown. As much as I appreciate the good intent, I would firmly ask you to restrain yourself from acting on such impulses in the future."

"For such a young girl, to come up with so devious a plot," Mr. Weasley said, shaking his head. He began to walk back to his study. "It nearly terrifies me. And it is much too early in the day to encounter such fear."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley departed, leaving Hermione and Lavender alone. Hermione pocketed her wand in the hidden pocket of her skirt.

"You needn't send me such scornful looks, Hermione," said Lavender. "Devious it may be, but I did it for Ginny. Ginny needs all the help she can get. She deserves to be happy with Mr. Zabini. I know you believe in this as strongly as I do."

"I would like to think Mr. Zabini can see that Ginny is his true and equal match without having to poison her."

Lavender only smiled. "Lucky for me, then, that Ginny just happens to be the most forgiving of the Weasleys. I shall head home now. I will come visit again tomorrow for any news."

Hermione filled the rest of the day with chores and errands around the Burrow, anxiously waiting for an Owl from Ginny to tell her of some awful news. As expected, by nightfall, they received a letter that Ginny had fallen seriously ill and was requesting Hermione to come to Netherfield Hall.

"Perhaps, depending on her degree of illness, I can simply Apparate the pair of us back here together," she was saying, as she threw on her boots.

"You'll risk Splinching to both or one of you," Mr. Weasley reminded her. "I'm afraid you will just have to tolerate the fine furnishings of Netherfield Hall, dear girl. I daresay I think you shall survive it."

Hermione Apparated to the front of Netherfield Hall. Its appearance once again stunned her for a brief moment before she made her way up the stairs to knock on its large doors. A house elf greeted her and led her into the drawing room, where she discovered that Mr. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy had returned back to Netherfield. Upon her entrance, she met the eyes of Mr. Malfoy by accident and quickly relocated her gaze elsewhere - to Mr. Zabini's face, which had instantly brightened at her arrival.

"Miss Granger! How grateful I am that you have arrived. I do hope it wasn't such a great inconvenience. Ginny was asking for you, and I knew that her family would be concerned."

She bowed. "It is not an inconvenience at all. I am very glad you owled, and am grateful that you have allowed her to stay until she is well. That is most gracious of you, as I'm sure she is already greater comfort here than she would ever be at home. Will you show me to her?"

She followed Mr. Zabini upstairs into one of their spare rooms. It was large and ornate, but all Hermione could focus on was a visibly ill Ginny in bed.

"We are not quite sure what caused her sudden illness," Mr. Zabini explained. "We've already had our Healer come by. He said there's been a rash of magical ailments in town that seemingly appear out of nowhere and disappear in a few days without any droughts necessary. He suspects this may be something similar. He's prescribed rest and plenty of fluids, which we will happily provide here at Netherfield. I suspect your presence here will also encourage her recovery."

"Your generosity is humbling, Mr. Zabini. Thank you."

"You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Merlin knows that we need some new opinions to liven up our discussions," he smiled. "I've already had the house elves arrange the bedroom next door for you. Please join us for supper downstairs in half an hour."

Mr. Zabini bowed and left Hermione and Ginny alone in the room. Hermione rushed to Ginny's side, grabbing her hand. Her hand was feverish, as was her forehead. Her eyes flickered, squinting up at Hermione.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, it's me, Ginny. I must say I am sorry to find you so ill." She bit her bottom lip, wondering if this was the best time to reveal to her exactly the reason why she came down so abruptly with this illness. She decided it was not. Perhaps bad news was better delivered when she was a tad more lucid. "I'm here to stay for as long as it takes until you are better. Mr. Zabini was kind enough to send an owl to the Burrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley send their love."

"Thank you, Hermione," she whispered faintly. Her eyelids drooped, her breathing rhythmic and shallow. She had fallen back asleep.

ooo

Hermione joined them for supper, partaking in their luxurious meal and civilized conversation. She caught the looks from Miss Pansy Parkinson every now and then from across the table, but remembered that she was here now to represent both Ginny and the Weasleys. Any sort of offense she might inadvertently cause would be directly associated to them. Keeping this in mind, she spoke pleasantly and restrained all of her usual criticisms to herself.

"Blaise tells me you teach lessons to children at a small shop in town," Miss Parkinson said, putting down her goblet and directing the topic of conversation to Hermione. "Which I daresay I found most peculiar upon the discovery of your Muggle birth."

The faint sounds of cutlery and eating stilled for a moment, everyone's eyes shifting to look at the pair of them at the table. Hermione, too, was caught off guard by the sudden turn in their conversation.

"Yes, I suppose it's quite unorthodox," Hermione admitted.

"You must be a very capable witch to have risen from such disadvantaged upbringing. Tell me, how old were you when you discovered you had magical abilities?"

"I was but eleven."

"And were your Muggle parents not horrified?"

Hermione remembered her parents and how they had asked her to hide her abilities for fear of her safety. The Muggle town they had lived in had a history of burning accused witches. "They were surprised, but were very encouraging."

"How fortunate," Miss Parkinson remarked. Her lips stretched into something Hermione surmised was perhaps supposed to be a smile but fell a ways short. "And where are your parents now?"

"They died when I was fourteen," she answered. "I had no other family besides my parents. The Weasleys were kind enough to take me in."

"Yes, how very generous. They must be stretched quite thin, the Weasleys. With seven children and a ward depending on their living," Miss Parkinson remarked, a little too coldly for Hermione's tastes.

"Their three eldest sons are out of the Burrow now and are quite self-sufficient. One makes a very successful living taming dragons in Romania."

"Still, I imagine it must be very crowded there. Privacy is almost as valuable as currency here, Miss Granger. Everything turns so quickly to gossip and rumors. The country here is overrun with very loose lips and overly eager ears."

"I happen to find the country very diverting," Mr. Zabini said, good naturedly. "Everyone is so pleased to see everyone at all times. In the city, crossing paths feels so often like a nuisance. Everyone is so stiff and taciturn, and you are hardly ever greeted with a smile."

"You are perhaps too indiscriminate when it comes to facial expressions, Zabini," said Mr. Malfoy. Hermione almost laughed aloud at this. What commentary from a man who seemed to only possess one singular expression.

Miss Parkinson pressed her lips into a thin line. "It's true, Blaise. You are too inclined to like everything with a pleasant appearance. Not once do you every try to discern whether a smile is simply there to distract you from more underhanded intentions."

Blaise laughed heartily. "And I think you two are too inclined to think everybody is in possession of a secret agenda. Is it so heinous a crime for a friendly greeting to be nothing but a friendly greeting?"

Hermione smiled to herself. Yes, Mr. Zabini was astoundingly like Ginny.

"See, Miss Granger smiles in agreement," Zabini pointed out.

"Or perhaps she is smiling because she, too, thinks you ridiculous," Miss Parkinson remarked. "Tell us honestly, Miss Granger. You appear to be a sensible woman. Do you agree with Blaise's lunacy?"

"I'm merely smiling because I've come across such comments before," she laughed. "Ginny, too, shares similar views."

Mr. Zabini seemed delighted to hear this. His cousin, however, did not.

"How convenient for her," Miss Parkinson said.

"Although I cannot say I would consider myself an optimist like Mr. Zabini and my dear friend," Hermione continued. "From what I have seen of the world, mostly nothing is ever as it seems from appearances."

She resisted the urge to look over at Mr. Malfoy, whose eyes she could feel on her. He was a prime example of this. A handsome, highborn, wealthy man with all the makings of a rotten personality only to be revealed upon closer inspection and interaction.

"There are only so few gifted with the rare ability to discern a person's character quickly and with accuracy," Mr. Malfoy said. "Too often there are distractions strategically placed to keep a person from attempting it successfully."

"And do you consider yourself one of those few, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said.

"Oh yes," Miss Parkinson chuckled. "Mr. Malfoy takes great pride in his ability to discern a person's character very well. And he does not delight in ever changing his mind."

"Some would say it takes great grace and humility to be able to change your mind about a person, if presented adequate evidence to do so," Hermione said.

"Maybe so, but one would not have to if they took great care to characterize correctly in the first place."

"Are you too proud, Mr. Malfoy? And would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?

"I'm afraid I cannot say."

"I simply ask because you have us as your captive audience for the evening, and we're doing our best to find a fault in you," she said wryly.

"Maybe it's that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me and the ones I hold dear. My good opinion, once lost, cannot be regained."

Hermione felt conflicted in her reaction to this. On the one hand, she still disliked his blatant, unrelenting arrogance. On the other, she could not help but agree, for she, too, was similar. She prided herself in her skill of reading the intentions of a person and not being easily susceptible to deceit and manipulation by false manners.

"Tell me, is your discernment the result of only one such encounter with a person?"

"The first few is usually sufficient, and depends on the length of the interaction, as well as the environment."

Hermione opened her mouth, ready with more questions. She was not sure what it was about this man that made her so curious and passionate to interrogate him. But, in a moment of awareness, she suddenly realized how exclusionary their conversation had become.

Instead, she looked over to Miss Parkinson and Mr. Zabini. "And pray tell, has the gentleman been quite successful in his predictions?"

Miss Parkinson smirked at her. "Miss Granger, no one has proven him incorrect thus far."

ooo

After supper, Hermione checked back in with Ginny and brought her more water and some soup. She was still weak and disoriented, but seemed to be faring better with staying awake for longer periods of time. With Ginny drifting back off to sleep, Hermione took a few minutes to write an owl back to the Burrow with updates on her recovery. Just as she was sending it off, she heard a knock on the door.

To her surprise, it was Mr. Malfoy. "Miss Granger, I apologize for the interruption."

"It is no interruption at all. I was just sending an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to let them know of Ginny's condition. They were very anxious when I left."

"Of course," he said, stiffly. There was a brief pause as he just looked at her, in the room. For so elegant-looking a man, he seemed to be plagued with the occasional bout of awkwardness. "Blaise has asked me to show you the library, if you are free."

Hermione felt a new rush of excitement. "Yes, of course. How kind of him to remember. I would love to."

She followed Mr. Malfoy down the hallway, past numerous doors. Finally, he led her into a large room, its tall bookshelves flush with books.

"Most of these are books written by wizards and witches," he informed her. "But there are several from a few notable Muggle authors."

Hermione took a closer look at the books on one of the shelves, its spines luxuriously printed with gold lettering. Most of these, if not all, were likely first editions.

"Forgive me. At the moment I find myself quite clumsy at containing my jealousy," she muttered.

"Blaise has asked me to convey to you that you are free to read what you like from this room for the duration of your stay."

Hermione smiled, unable to conceal her delight. "I'll be sure to express my deepest gratitude to him. He knows not the magnitude of happiness he is granting me." She began to skim over the titles of the books. "I recall him mentioning that you, too, are an avid reader. Have you any recommendations?"

She smiled at him, harking back to his remark at the ball. "Perhaps you find your current surroundings more suitable to discuss literature, even if at least briefly."

She received that look from him again, as if he was both surprised and perturbed by her. But it ebbed away quickly enough into his usual stern expression. Up close, Hermione almost found herself observing his features too closely, noting the perfect lines of his jaw and the symmetry of his face. What a shame, that such stunning features could befall a man so... decidedly unlikable.

Suddenly, he had walked away from her, heading straight toward one of the shelves. He reached up and picked out a book, as if knowing exactly where it was. He came back and placed it gently in her hands.

"Here," he said, quietly. He bowed. "Good night, Miss Granger."

He walked out of the library, leaving her there alone.

Hermione looked down at the book he had given to her and could not help but smile to herself.

 _Hogwarts: A History._

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Please feel free to review! xo!


	4. Uncomplimentary

A/N: Many thanks for the reads and reviews! This chapter was fun to write. Maybe it'll be the closest we'll get to a Mr. Darcy in a wet shirt scene in this fic, but who knows!

* * *

Chapter Four

Hermione read through the night, checking in on Ginny periodically to ensure she was still resting peacefully. Admittedly, Hermione had never read _Hogwarts: A History_ in its entirety through lack of opportunity. This was usually regarded as a textbook for those attending Hogwarts - of which she could not claim acquaintance with anyone who had the privilege - and thus the book cost more than she could justify spending on a singular book. Most of what Hermione knew about Hogwarts came from other sources, whether it was by word of mouth or other more attainable texts. Thus, she read on curiously, but with what she deemed a necessary dose of determination to suppress any inclination to be impressed - even as she got to the mysteries of the ancient castle, and the many magical protections placed around the castle to shield itself from Muggle discovery.

Hermione finished the book at an indecent hour of the night. Unfortunately, she found herself restless and unable to retire, so she reread the chapters she found most amusingly full of intrigue. After that, she moved onto another book that she had borrowed from the library, a recent edition of useful potions, making note of the ones she wanted to try. She wondered how Mrs. Lupin would receive a suggestion of a few potions lessons for the children at Moony's.

Being that she had taken to reading by the room's window, she was conscious of the sky lightening into early morning. She looked out into the lush, empty grounds of Netherfield Park from where she sat, spotting a nearly concealed path and a trail of woods in the far corner that she had not taken care to notice before. Unable to deny her curiosity and sense of adventure, Hermione marked her page and shrugged on her overcoat, before making her way silently out of Netherfield Hall.

The air was chilly and damp as she made her way to the woods. She could feel the refreshing moisture against her hair and skin, and the softness of the ground underneath. She thought about what Mr. Malfoy's intentions had been in handing her that book. Did he dare hope that learning more about Hogwarts would change her mind into agreeing with him? Perhaps the man had a sense of humor, after all.

She entered the woods, surprised to find a worn path ahead of her. She still had to maneuver her way across fallen trees and jutting roots, but it was obvious the previous tenants of Netherfield Park had roamed here often. She followed the trail, curious to where it would lead. Soon she began to hear the pleasant sound of birds in the trees, seemingly having just roused from sleep.

She wandered deeper into the woods for a good few minutes before she heard it - the echo of voices in the distance. She slowed her steps, wondering from which direction it came, before making her way towards it. It seemed to come from behind a covering of trees.

Hermione leaned forward, peering through the branches and leaves, taking utmost care to be as silent as possible.

There were two men in a clearing, their wands draw and firing spells at one another. Hermione's eyes widened as she recognized them immediately as the current tenants of Netherfield Park. Mr. Blaise Zabini and Mr. Draco Malfoy were firing and deflecting hexes and spells with agility and grace, the pair caught in the unmistakable dance of a practice duel, both in an uncommon state of undress. They were both without jackets or cravats, simply in their white muslin shirts, pantaloons and tall boots. Hermione found herself relieved to be hidden, for she flushed at the sight of them. Although it was true she had seen Ron and Harry, as well as any of the other Weasley sons, dressed this way, she considered them familiar company – practically brothers, if she could ever be so informal as to claim.

The longer she watched, the more she was able to discern that Mr. Malfoy was the better of the two duelers. They were both highly skilled to be sure - whether that be due to natural talent or simply their expensive education - but Mr. Malfoy, she observed, was much swifter and astoundingly focused, deflecting spell after spell. Without all of their usual gentlemanly layers, she was able to observe the lean strength of his body and make out the broadness of his shoulders. But what stunned her most of all was his expression: his jaw firmly squared, his eyes steely and determined, all so complimentary to his already uncommonly striking features.

His face, neck, and the few exposed inches of his chest gleamed faintly and pleasantly with sweat. At the present moment, the shock of the event transpiring in front of her could not afford enough self-awareness and self-imposed dignity to look away, for which she would most certainly loathe herself for later when clarity inevitably repossessed her.

Mr. Zabini did not deflect or dodge a hex in time, which caught him by the shoulder and threw him violently across the way, laying him flat on his back with some force. Mr. Malfoy came straight over to him.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Malfoy asked, kneeling next to his friend.

Zabini was chuckling, sitting up. "I fear you may need a better dueling partner, Malfoy. I find myself not much of a challenge to you."

Malfoy helped him up. Mr. Zabini's white shirt was now marred with dirt across his back. "What you are is distracted. A distracted man is always easy to disarm."

Mr. Zabini grinned. "Am I so transparent, Malfoy?"

Malfoy only scowled, handing his friend back his wand. "Somehow I'm under the impression that to confirm that suspicion would do little to change the circumstance."

She heard Mr. Zabinia's laughter ring out in the woods. "You and Pansy are such miserable company. It's a wonder how I've kept any of my optimism. Perhaps I ought to give myself more credit for my stubbornness."

Hermione assumed they were finished with their practice duel, as they had both tucked their wands away. The lady inside her begged her to stop her improper eavesdropping and head back to Netherfield Hall immediately, but Hermione somehow found that voice very easy to ignore. This was perhaps because Hermione had never much considered herself a lady in the first place. If she was to suffer through the downsides of not being highborn anyway, should she not also engage in the benefits?

"How did it fare last night with showing Miss Granger the library?" Mr. Zabini asked. "It is a lucky thing you had taken care to mention it to me, Malfoy. I would have absolutely forgotten, and would have been quite displeased at myself for such a lack of consideration."

Hermione stiffened in surprise. She had been under the impression that it had been at Mr. Zabini's request. Had it truly been Mr. Malfoy's idea?

"She received the gesture well," he replied. "As well as one would expect a country Muggleborn would receive such kindness, anyway."

Alas, Hermione's shock was now overshadowed by a familiar flare of annoyance.

"My friend, I sometimes fear that should you ever speak a deservedly kind word of anyone who had the bravery to stand up to you, you would keel over in a dead faint."

"I concede that she shows herself to be one of the more intelligent and rational witches I've met," Mr. Malfoy said, though not in congratulatory tones. "And her passion for knowledge is... certainly uncontested."

"Malfoy, you do have the most unusual talent of making compliments sound rather uncomplimentary."

"But there is something unnerving about her gaze," he remarked.

Mr. Zabini laughed more. "Unnerving in what way?"

Mr. Malfoy's voice lowered into a murmur. "That I'm afraid I cannot yet comprehend."

"I shall be brave enough here to venture a guess. It is because Miss Granger is one of the rare few that shows no rabid inclination to appear pleasing to your eyes."

Mr. Malfoy snorted. "No, in fact she appears to consider that idea with much disdain."

Mr. Zabini grinned some more. "Although I know your character too well to think you might ever concede to this admission, Malfoy, I do believe you shall find that quite refreshing - that is, after you've recovered from your shock."

ooo

Hermione returned back to Netherfield Hall in what proper society might call a very unladylike sprint. A house elf greeted her at the side door, panting and out of breath. "Thought it was a lovely morning for a light jog around the grounds," she said without having been prompted with an explanation, and went quickly to her room.

In one hour they would be calling her down for breakfast, in which she would be sure to act as if she had had a very normal morning, void of any eavesdropping on private conversations or running through Netherfield Park. She checked on Ginny to calm her nerves, hoping that perhaps a night's sleep would render Ginny well enough to come down for breakfast. How she wished she could have another friendly face there with her. It was easy to be overlooked with Ginny in the room, for which Hermione was often grateful for. She took too much delight in observing others than to ever desire their own eyes and critical opinions directed towards her.

She made herself decent, perhaps taking too much care in doing so, and made her way downstairs when she was summoned. Mr. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy were back in their gentlemanly layers and were seated at the table, as was Miss Parkinson, who seemed no more pleased that Hermione was joining them for yet another day.

"How was your first night at Netherfield Hall, Miss Granger?" Mr. Zabini asked cordially. "I do hope you slept well."

"I have every confidence that I would have, had I slept at all," she said. They all looked at her with faint alarm. "I'm afraid I spent the night reading. Thank you for allowing me to make use of the library, Mr. Zabini. It is magnificent."

Mr. Zabini was relieved and very pleased. "But of course. I am delighted you are taking advantage of it. The library here, I'm afraid, is not visited as often as it should be. I am sure it appreciates the company."

"Must have been an awfully captivating book to have thwarted sleep," Miss Parkinson commented. "Pray tell, what is this book?"

"I'm sure it is of some familiarity to you. It was _Hogwarts: A History_."

Miss Parkinson seemed surprised at first, then amused. "Heavens, I do remember that chore of a book. It is a required textbook for First Years at Hogwarts. Many of us used it as doorstops to the common rooms of the Houses. Do you remember, Blaise?"

He nodded. "Indeed I do. T'is a hefty old thing."

Hermione felt an emotion of which she scarcely allowed herself to feel - embarrassment, and shame. Had she taken care to consider her options more, she might have presented a different book, one that wasn't considered so elementary to the highborn.

"I'm quite delighted at this discovery," Miss Parkinson smirked. "Silly me, I had been under the impression that your literary tastes were perhaps too refined for us to find any commonalities."

It nearly amazed Hermione at how skilled Miss Parkinson was at designing insults with such a civilized air. It took great effort to discern that most of her statements towards others were full of condescension and mockery. A less sophisticated person would not have taken such care to conceal their insults - with such creativity, too.

" _Hogwarts: A History_ is a perfectly respectable piece of literature," Mr. Malfoy remarked, surprising them all. "It is a painstaking, thorough account of what it took to establish one of the finest magical institutions in the world. It was, however, not written with the purpose to entertain, which many may find does not align with their preferred extracurricular reading."

Miss Parkinson's joyful expression suddenly appeared more strained than it had just one second ago.

"It is perhaps just too respectable a book for a group of easily distracted First Years."

They moved onto other, substantially less charged topics. Hermione participated in the rest of their conversation pleasantly enough, but took diligent care to restrain herself from the frequent urge to glance over at Mr. Malfoy through the rest of the meal, for every time she did, she found herself the recipient of unwarranted images of him again in that clearing in the woods, with his focused eyes and panting breaths, looking every bit of a skilled wizard who she now knew thought her gaze to be incomprehensively 'unnerving.' _No_ , Hermione thought, trying to shake the imagery from her head, feeling her pulse start to race for reasons she found herself afraid to discover. _That simply will not do._

ooo

After breakfast, Hermione declined an invitation to join them in a visit to town and instead retired to her room to read for an hour. After that, she checked in on Ginny and was pleased to see her friend was awake and looking much better.

"It is a relief to put actual sentences together again," Ginny sighed, sitting up. Hermione touched her hand to her forehead. The fever had diminished, and there was color in her cheeks again. "But I daresay, I am absolutely famished."

One of the house elves brought Ginny breakfast, while Hermione told her about her stay at Netherfield so far. She reluctantly broke the news about Lavender's devious plot.

Ginny shook her head, laughing at the sheer absurdity of her friend. "To be honest, I am not surprised, and yet I find I cannot bring myself to be angry with her."

"There is no need, for I am angry with her enough for the both of us."

"Lavender is plagued with the whims of a romantic, Hermione. I fear she has attached all of her hopes and dreams for me in regards to Mr. Zabini. It gives her something to focus on, something to direct her wayward energies."

"Oh, I wish you would not take such care to defend her silliness, Ginny. It would only further enable her partiality towards the dramatics." Hermione sighed, grateful to see Ginny well again. "I am so happy you have recovered, though perhaps no one could be happier than Mr. Zabini. He has gone out to town with Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson, but I have sent word that you are better. Once he hears, he is sure to come quickly back."

Ginny smiled, blushing prettily. "I hope it has not been too terrible for you here, Hermione."

She sighed. "I suppose it is a good thing to experience discomfort for a length of time. It teaches one to savor comfort when it comes. It will be better with you well again. I find I am quite ill at being the center of attention, and find it exhausting."

After Ginny finished eating, Hermione helped her dress and they both went out for a stroll on the lawns of Netherfield Park. The early morning fog had dissipated to reveal a sunny, warm day. As they walked, she made sure to avoid the general area leading to the woods she had so unceremoniously ventured into this morning.

They were on their way back when Mr. Zabini approached them.

"Miss Weasley! What a delight that you are well again. We have missed your company greatly."

"Yes, I feel much better. I am utmost grateful to you for offering me a comfortable bed to recuperate in."

"You are welcome any time you even start to feel ill." He offered his arm to Ginny, and they began to walk. Hermione trailed some ways behind them, watching their easy manners with each other, smiling to herself.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione looked to her side to see that Mr. Malfoy had joined her. He bowed to her, and she curtsied back to him. She looked behind him to see if Miss Parkinson was also to be joining them, for it seemed she had a preference for being close to him, but she did not see her.

He fell in step with her, and she watched his boots flatten the lush grass.

"You are a quick reader," he said. "I cannot claim to know anyone who has succeeded in reading _Hogwarts: A History_ in one sitting."

"I do not know that I am that quick, but I enjoy details that others may find dull." She wondered how long he would walk with her. "Did you enjoy your time there at Hogwarts?"

"Very much. I go back every year to support the school and make regular donations to ensure that the quality of education offered there is preserved."

Hermione found this very unshocking. "How magnanimous of you."

Here they fell into an awkward silence. She could hear the lively conversation transpiring between Ginny and Mr. Zabini, and she longed to be in their company to share in the laughter and smiles. Instead she was here with the taciturn Mr. Malfoy, who was clearly not fluent in the art of an amiable verbal exchange.

"Does Hogwarts have many generous benefactors like yourself?" she asked.

"Yes, I believe so," he answered.

"And the children also pay tuition, in addition to their books and supplies?"

"Yes, they do. Every family is responsible for making sure their student is well-equipped to learn."

Hermione nodded. "I have a friend who teaches as a Professor there. Remus Lupin, the husband of Mrs. Lupin. He owns Moony's. He tells me that the students are brilliant and very capable, but that they are also entitled."

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Entitled?"

"Does the term offend you?"

"The students at Hogwarts work very hard to excel academically. Only the finest students are selected to become Aurors and workers at the Ministry of Magic after completion. In all my years there I did not meet a single soul that was not deserving of their spot."

"And what of those worthy whom you've never met, simply because they haven't the high status to be allowed in?" she asked. "It is hard enough to educate yourself without money, but when the finest institutions deem you unworthy for it solely due to circumstances beyond one's control, it is cruel."

"Everyone comes upon circumstances they'd consider unwarranted and unjust, Miss Granger," he said, his drawl picking up a harsher tone. "Such misfortunes are not just reserved for the poor."

"No, the poor just receive no sympathy from those who can afford to spare a little," she said, endeavoring very little to hide her sarcasm.

"Is it my wealth that offends you so?" he asked her, his brow furrowing.

"No, it is not your wealth," she answered.

Mr. Malfoy suddenly stopped in his step, prompting her to also cease walking. He stepped closer to her, his face fixed in a frosty glare. "Then I am afraid I cannot say I understand the object of your obvious opposition to me."

"Perhaps it is because you boast of your generosity towards an institution that is far from lacking of it," she answered, quite passionately, "and yet you look down so callously on country children who are so poor they must be taught charms and spells on the hard floor of a small little shop by a Muggleborn witch. I believe we are aware enough of our unfortunate circumstances, Mr. Malfoy, without you having to remind us of it." She furiously curtsied to him, not being able to bear another second in his presence. "I'm afraid I've had enough of the outdoors for today. Do enjoy the rest of your stroll."

She stalked off back towards Netherfield Hall, fuming. Hermione desperately needed to escape into a gloriously lengthy book, and that was exactly what she planned to do.


	5. Accomplished Young Women

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Chapter Five

Hermione welcomed their last night at Netherfield Hall with great relief and an anxiousness she rarely ever encountered. Perhaps Miss Parkinson was right - the humble details of the country had embedded itself so deep within her that she found the very fine comforts of such a place to wear thin on her after a length of time. This was not so with Ginny, she observed. True, she had mentioned to Hermione about how she missed her brothers and her parents, but the time spent with Mr. Zabini was savored by Ginny most meticulously. Hermione had never seen a happier pair with similar personalities and kind temperaments. Mr. Zabini was quite apparent in his affections towards Ginny, something which she was sure the rest of the party was not ignorant of.

"Hermione, come join us," Ginny called from the table in the corner, seated along with Mr. Zabini and Miss Parkinson. They were all ending the night in the finely furnished drawing room.

"I'm afraid I'm quite terrible at cards, but I shall enjoy your competition from where I sit."

Miss Parkinson eyed the book on her lap. "Why, it appears Miss Granger holds no affinity for cards. She is a great reader and finds little pleasure in anything else without pages."

"Miss Parkinson, I am not a great reader, by any means. And I find pleasure in a variety of things. Cards, it so happens, does not happen to be one of them. How I wish it wasn't so. A lively game of cards reveals the most telling nature of people."

"Oh yes," Mr. Zabini agreed. "It can be most telling. I have seen the most quiet of gentlemen become quite unlike themselves during a close game of cards."

Miss Parkinson moved her attentions over to Mr. Malfoy, who had taken to sitting at a desk in the opposite corner. "And you, Mr. Malfoy? Do you find yourself ill at cards this evening as well?"

"I am writing a letter to Daphne. I shall join you afterwards."

Miss Parkinson caught the curious looks of Ginny and Hermione at the mention of a mysterious lady. "Miss Daphne Greengrass is Mr. Malfoy's ward." She turned back to him. "Tell us, how is the fine Miss Daphne faring at Hogwarts?"

"She is enjoying her time there, although much of her focus is being directed towards her studies. Her aim is to be Head Girl during her final year."

"Why, it would be a great surprise to us all if they chose any other. Mr. Malfoy loves to regale us all with the compliments paid to him by Daphne's professors at how exemplary a student she is," Miss Parkinson announced to their group. "Indeed, I have always been shocked by how refined Miss Daphne is despite being so young a person. Not yet sixteen, I believe. And already quite well on her way to being such an accomplished woman. Not all of us can boast of such a feat."

Hermione was shocked to find out that Mr. Malfoy already had himself a ward. He was quite young - no more than a few months her senior at best - and yet to find himself already the guardian of a young lady. This was not a distinction found upon many men his age.

"Miss Daphne is an extraordinary young lady," Mr. Zabini agreed. "A pleasant temper, intelligent, and quite adept at the arts. She is quite famous in our circles for her skills in the piano forte. It astounds me, the capacity for excellence that ladies possess. To me, to be excellent in one subject matter would prove accomplishment enough. Perhaps this is why men are not considered the fairer sex," he laughed.

This did not amuse his cousin. "Blaise, your standards are positively reprehensible."

"In this I find I must agree with Miss Parkinson," Mr. Malfoy remarked.

"Oh yes," Miss Parkinson crooned. "Mr. Malfoy does not take the term lightly. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, potion-making, charms, magical history, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word. And she must also be in possession of a certain air in her manner of walking and speaking - the embodiment of female sophistication and intellect."

"And she must show a keenness to improve her mind by extensive reading," he added. Hermione caught him briefly glance at the book in her hands, and she quickly put it down on the table beside her as if just realizing it was cursed.

"And pray, have you encountered several of these so-defined 'accomplished women'?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy looked up from his letter, directing his gaze towards her. "Rarely, and only but a few."

"More than one? That is a great shock to hear, indeed."

"A shock?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Are you so critical of your own sex?"

"I have never met such a lady," Hermione said, smiling. "To embody such impossible excellence in all things, I imagine they would be extraordinary creatures. I look forward to the day I receive evidence of their existence."

Mr. Zabini laughed heartily at this, as did Ginny. Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy, however, did not seem to share in their sense of humor.

ooo

Hermione and Ginny said their cordial farewells to the Mr. Zabini's party and thanked him again for his generosity before Apparating back to the Burrow.

"Girls! How happy I am that you have returned," Mrs. Weasley greeted them, quick and firm with her embrace. "You must tell me all about all of the fine happenings at Netherfield Park. But first, go to your rooms and unpack. We will be expecting dinner guests this evening."

Hermione and Ginny went to their room upstairs, going through their things and airing out their dresses.

"I must admit," Ginny sighed, "as fine as our accommodations were at Netherfield, and pleasant the company, I am quite relieved to be back here at the Burrow."

"I feel the same except a hundredfold," Hermione laughed.

"I did want to tell you - before we left, I happened to mention to Mr. Zabini how curious it was that Mr. Malfoy happened to have a ward for so young a gentleman, and Mr. Zabini told me that Malfoy's family had been close with the Greengrasses for a century. Apparently a violent sort of tragedy befell Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass a few years ago. Daphne's older sister, Astoria, had been a witness to their grisly death and found herself incapable of taking care of Daphne or their estate. That is where our dear Mr. Malfoy stepped in and offered to take her in as his ward."

Hermione was quite shocked to hear of this. It seemed Mr. Malfoy kept many secrets, indeed. "Incapable?" she asked.

"The older sister has been at St. Mungo's for quite some time now," Ginny explained.

"Oh," Hermione said, thinking of the unfortunate girl - as she, too, knew how it felt to suddenly become an orphan with nobody in the world. "Mr. Malfoy was right, I'm afraid. We all inherit misfortune, no matter how well-regarded our surname."

Soon after, Hermione and Ginny joined the rest of the Weasleys downstairs to greet their dinner guests. It was only then that Hermione was surprised to discover that she recognized the herbologist's nephew.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger," Mr. Longbottom said, bowing to her.

"Oh? Have you two already been acquainted?" His uncle, Mr. Sculthorpe, asked.

"Miss Granger is the young lady that saved me from the wayward cart in town," Mr. Longbottom replied, blushing a little.

Mr. Sculthope laughed. "How am I not surprised! Miss Granger is a most capable young lady. We are indebted to you, Miss."

"Not at all, Mr. Sculthorpe. I believe you've let me graze your greenhouse more than enough."

They became quite acquainted with Mr. Longbottom through supper. He was an inoffensive sort of man - not particularly striking in his features, but he was tall and had pleasant - if not occasionally nervous - manners. He was being groomed to take over Mr. Sculthorpe's greenhouse, the convenience being that he also shared his uncle's passion for herbology.

"Our young ladies have just had the privilege of visiting Mr. Zabini and his party at Netherfield Park," Mrs. Weasley mentioned proudly.

"Oh yes, Mr. Zabini. He came by the greenhouse just a few weeks ago. He had another gentleman with him who didn't speak much, but had the sternest countenance of anyone I had ever encountered," said Mr. Sculthorpe.

"I believe that can be no other than Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said.

"Yes, I believe that was his name. Anyway, Mr. Zabini spoke to me at length about possibly having a greenhouse on the grounds of Netherfield Park. He admired mine and was asking for my expertise. I told him I would send him an owl with the finer details. He was very agreeable."

"More than agreeable, would not you agree, Ginevra?" Fred winked.

Mr. Sculthorpe was intrigued. "Is the young lady closely acquainted with Mr. Zabini?"

"Oh yes, we expect a quick engagement," George said. "She shall be the lady of Netherfield Park soon enough."

"George!" Mrs. Weasley reprimanded.

Thankfully, Mr. Sculthorpe seemed to only find this amusing. "She would certainly be a welcome presence to the elegant corridors of Netherfield Hall."

Ginny, both embarrassed and flattered, thanked Mr. Sculthorpe most graciously.

After dinner, Mr. Longbottom accompanied Hermione outside the Burrow for an evening stroll.

"My uncle is very fond of the Weasleys," he said. "He talks of them very highly, and always full of affection."

"Yes, the Weasleys have no rival in their generosity and kindness," Hermione agreed. "I was but a stranger to them and they took me in as a favor to Mr. Harry Potter. I had known Harry in the Muggle world, for I had encountered him while he was still with his Muggle aunt and uncle. He, too, showed an inclination towards magic. We forged an easy friendship after that."

"I am familiar with Mr. Potter. He has come by the greenhouse a few times. He is an upstanding fellow."

They fell into silence. Hermione listened to the quiet sounds of their footsteps in the grass.

"How do you find it, training with your uncle?"

"I am enjoying it. I shall be fortunate if I become even half of the herbologist he is."

"I am sure you will be. You speak quite passionately about herbology. Passion certainly helps in excelling at a trade."

They heard shouts in the distance, summoning them back to the house. It seemed Mr. Sculthorpe's and Mr. Longbottom's visit was over. They returned to the Burrow to exchange their farewells.

"I do hope you will allow me the pleasure of visiting you again, Miss Granger," Mr. Longbottom said nervously, awkwardly bowing to her, before Disapparating into the night.

Fred, George and Ron burst into laughter. Ginny smiled at Hermione sympathetically.

"Mr. Longbottom is a perfectly nice man," Mrs. Weasley defended.

"Poor fellow wouldn't stop sweating profusely at supper. I thought we would all drown before the night's end!" Fred howled.

"It would be a most amusing way to die, indeed," said George.

"Do let us know when Mr. Longbottom would like to call on you again, Hermione," they said. "That way we can purchase some Gillyweed in advance from his uncle."

They went up the stairs to their rooms, still in a fit of laughter.

"He is a perfectly nice man," Mrs. Weasley repeated. She looked hopefully over at Hermione, wiping her hands on her skirt. "Do you not agree, Hermione?"

ooo

Hermione went to Moony's early the next morning. The recent entrance of Mr. Longbottom and the hopeful possibility of Mr. Zabini proposing to Ginny introduced a more potent energy at the Burrow that Hermione found contrary to her personal sense of comfort. Fred and George were known to be ridiculous and thus their comments never phased her, but it was the looks shared between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that she found difficult to stomach. She had overheard them in Mr. Weasley's study late last night about Mr. Longbottom being an adequate possible prospect for Hermione.

"He obviously shows an inclination towards her, and is not much offended by her intelligence, as can be common with most wizards," she had overheard Mrs. Weasley say. Even Mr. Weasley had appeared to agree with the practicality of the match, although with less than half of his wife's enthusiasm.

The shop front was empty when she arrived, with Mrs. Lupin likely sorting inventory in the back. Hermione arranged a few misplaced items before she noticed a stack of books behind the counter. They were certainly not books this shop had ever possessed before. There were four of them, bound neatly with a velvet green ribbon - all first editions, and clearly expensive. She undid the ribbon to peruse the titles: _Standard Book of Spells_ by Miranda Goshawk; _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ ; _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore; and, lastly, _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger.

"Hermione, there you are! I have missed you dearly these past few days." Mrs. Lupin said, revealing herself.

"Mrs. Lupin, where did these books come from?" she asked.

"Oh, you must've just missed him! A gentleman came by just a few minutes ago to donate those books to the children for their lessons. I asked for his name, but he refused and simply asked to be called an anonymous benefactor. He was quite a striking fellow. Tall and with such elegant authority in his posture, the palest porcelain skin and these gray eyes-"

Mrs. Lupin gave an exclamation as Hermione grabbed one of the books and abruptly exited the shop, spinning around to see which way he had gone. Finally, she spotted him, quite a ways down the road. She was both relieved and surprised to find him alone, without his usual company. She began to run after him, squeezing through the crowd.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she called. When she was close enough and he was able to hear her call after him, he stopped and turned. He appeared shocked to see her for only a brief moment before his face fell back into its usual expression.

He bowed to her. "Miss Granger."

"I am afraid we cannot accept such generosity, sir."

"Please, take them," he said. "I have no further use of them. The children may find a few spells in there worth learning." He seemed to hesitate, observing her expression. "I insist."

"More than a few, to be sure," Hermione said, finding herself quite clumsy in translating her gratitude. "Thank you. I'll be sure to let them know who their generous benefactor was."

He bowed, as if to leave. And then he turned back to her. "There's more. Books. Sitting in my library at the manor, collecting dust. I'll have one of my house elves deliver those to the shop next week, if that is agreeable to you."

Hermione blinked back her surprise. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy."

"I shall make the arrangements then. Good day," he said briskly. He bowed again and departed.

For a moment Hermione found herself staring after Mr. Malfoy's tall figure retreating into the busy street. How odd she thought him. Was this his way of countering her assertions of his selective generosity that she had made heard at Netherfield? Did he find her critical eye of him a challenge? Every personal encounter and bit of information she gathered regarding him seemed to contradict each other. No doubt, this latest event came at very little cost to him, as he did admit the books were not being used anyway. But still. How very odd of him to make the effort at all.

She turned around, still deep in her thoughts, ready to head back to Moony's, when she suddenly found herself hitting something warm and solid, propelling her backwards to the ground.

"Miss!"

A pair of strong hands grabbed a hold of her and helped her up. She could hardly comprehend what was happening before she was hoisted back up on her feet. She looked at the figure before her to find a very apologetic yet handsome gentleman holding her book.

"Are you quite all right? I apologize, it was my fault. I was quite distracted, which any rational fellow could tell you does not bode well for walking down a busy street this time of day," he said, with a pleasantly disarming smile.

"I am just fine, thank you. I believe I ought to also claim responsibility for not being as attentive as I should have been," she said.

"Then we are both to blame," he laughed. "But for such an opportune accident of walking into a fine young lady with a book, I find myself not very inclined to be cross. Quite the contrary, if I may be so bold."

"Your flattery is too generously tendered, sir," Hermione said, flushing a little. She noticed, rather against her will, how very attentive his eyes were on her. "Mr.?"

"Mr. Nott. Theodore Nott," he said, bowing to her deeply. "At your service, ma'am."

* * *

 **A/N** : At long last! We are now acquainted with our Mr. Collins (Neville - not sure if that was apparent)(although it behooves me to say that I have a special place for Neville in my heart, so don't expect his character to play closely at all to Austen's Mr. Collins), Miss Georgiana (Daphne), and devious Mr. Wickham (Nott)! Please review!


	6. The Tragic History of Mr Theodore Nott

**A/N:** Thank you kindly for all of the reads and reviews!

* * *

Chapter Six

"Mr. Nott seems to be the most charming fellow," Ginny remarked one evening, as she prepared herself for bed.

Hermione barely looked up, having seated herself over at the desk in the corner of their shared room, flipping through one of the textbooks Mr. Malfoy's house elves had brought to the shop last week. She had taken it upon herself to study new spells and draft a schedule for the new lessons she would be teaching the children. With the recent influx of new resources, she found herself in the very unfamiliar condition of being quite overwhelmed by the possibilities.

"Yes, he does seem to be one of the more agreeable examples of the male species," Hermione muttered.

Ginny laughed. "Oh Hermione! Please do not insult me by feigning such blatant indifference. I talked to Mrs. Lupin at the shop and even she has noticed how Mr. Nott lingers around the shop far too long and far too often to not do so out of some kind of indulgence of admiration."

This Hermione could not deny. She had seen much of Mr. Nott during these last few weeks, usually in some casual encounter - he would stop by the shop, or happen to run into her in town as she was returning to the Burrow. Hermione found him to be very pleasant company, with an intelligent yet never arrogant cadence, although she did take to noticing the second glances of the women while they walked together in town. No, Mr. Nott's appeal was not lost on her in the least bit.

"Tell me, Hermione," goaded her dear friend. "Do you not think him handsome? Amiable?"

All of this Hermione did think, though would likely not admit so aloud, for fear of her own feelings being exposed. She did not like indulging the silliness of other females - why should she feel any comfort in indulging her own?

"I think he is a perfectly agreeable gentleman with great talents in conversation and a uniquely unfettered curiosity."

"You go to such pains to avoid complimenting him too liberally, which allows me to guess your true feelings, Hermione. I have taken the liberty of asking around about Mr. Nott, which you have clearly restrained yourself from doing so, lest it reveal you. Nevertheless, I will present to you the information I have gathered. It appears Mr. Nott has quite the bewitching personality. Lavender has become acquainted with a few of his friends, visiting here from the North. They are fellow Aurors-in-training, freshly recruited. His reputation for being very charming and amiable is widely spread. There. Surely even someone as skeptical as you wouldn't think that suspicious?"

"Not at all. Quite the contrary. Good character is only reaffirmed by the testimony of others. Had Mr. Nott come to me with grand tales of his own person, I would be a fool to believe him on that alone."

Ginny smiled at her, pleased with her reply. "Very well then. This sounds very promising, indeed." She paused, as if lost in entertaining a thought. "I daresay I would very much like to see you in love, Hermione."

Hermione laughed aloud. "Dearest Ginny. Only the greatest love would persuade me into the shackles of matrimony, which is why I will have a lonesome existence, consolable only by large stacks of books."

"Oh take care, Hermione. You disregard your future too hastily. Besides, you will not end up alone - not if Mr. Nott has any say in the matter," Ginny said.

Hermione felt herself flush. While it was true she had begun to feel very strongly certain feelings she did not regularly associate with unfamiliar gentlemen, she knew the nature of the world too well to start dreaming of proposals or weddings. The inconvenient flutterings of a newly born crush was enough for her to acquaint herself with for now.

"Let us not speak so confidently about such uncertain matters," she said, returning to her book. "As I recall, neither of us are particularly skilled in Divination."

"Maybe so, but the powers of observation can prove evidence enough. I have seen the way he looks at you. It is far from any sort of casual glance." Ginny smiled again, thus proving she found altogether too much delight in this conversation. "One might even say it is the way a man looks at his future wife."

ooo

The next day, Hermione taught the children a new spell she had learned from one of Mr. Malfoy's books. The young ones were besotted by the textbooks, sitting in groups and flipping over the pages, marveling at the new charms and spells they now had a chance of learning. A few of them had asked for parchment paper to write a note to Mr. Malfoy to thank him for the books.

It was towards the end of the lesson that a young woman came into the shop. She was dressed in plain country clothes and unique jewelry, had a dreamy expression, and hair the color of cornhusk. For a minute Hermione thought her to be a relative of one Mr. Malfoy – a very distant relative, perhaps.

"Good afternoon," Hermione greeted. "Welcome to Moony's. Can I help you look for anything in particular?"

"Yes," she said. She spoke slowly and softly, still looking around. "I am looking for something to ward away Nargles."

"Nargles?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, they infest mistletoe and are known to be expert thieves. I lost my favorite pair of shoes once to a Nargle."

"I'm afraid I can't claim to be familiar with Nargles. Would you have any idea what sorts of objects or spells can repel them? If we cannot help you here, perhaps you can visit the greenhouse. They may have something."

She nodded. "I shall pay a visit there. Thank you for your help, Miss-?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she curtsied. "And you?"

"Luna Lovegood. I have just moved here with my father from London. He is starting a newspaper called The Quibbler. I quite like this odd little shop. The slope of the ceiling pleases me. Might we drop some off here?"

"Of course," Hermione said, politely. The young lady certainly struck her as very odd and unlike the others in town. She found it quite refreshing.

"Thank you. Have a good day, Miss Granger. Do watch out for Nargles, they never return what they've stolen."

Miss Lovegood left the store, leaving Hermione to wonder after her. Mrs. Lupin shortly returned from the back of the shop, having taken it upon herself to find a place for all of the new books from Mr. Malfoy.

"A bit odd for a man to suddenly decide to donate such expensive books to such an inconsequential little shop," Mrs. Lupin mentioned suggestively. "Pray, what sort of enchantment do you have him under, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. As if she could ever enchant a man like him! It was hard enough being in the same room. "He is under no such enchantment. I believe all I merely did was offend him by criticizing his flawed perception of charity."

Mrs. Lupin chuckled to herself. "Ah, words. They are the most primitive magic. I've scarcely met a pluckier girl than you, Hermione. I'll give you that."

"Mrs. Weasley would say that it is not so much as pluck, but an inability to keep my opinions to myself when doing so would most benefit me."

Mrs. Lupin gave her a stern look. "I would never deny tact has its uses. But never you misunderstand - it takes a respectable man to be able to admire the barefaced honesty of a strong-minded woman." She sighed. "There are few, I grant you, but they are out there."

"Then they must all be wearing Invisibility Cloaks," Hermione smiled.

"Not all, Hermione," Mrs. Lupin grinned. "Ah, here comes one now."

The bells above the shop door rang as Mr. Nott stepped into the shop, sporting his usual disarming grin. Both ladies curtsied to him.

He bowed. "Mrs. Lupin, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Mr. Nott, I hope you have come by to finally buy an item and not just peruse the goods we have to offer," Mrs. Lupin said, most cheekily. "Pretty things are not just meant to sit on shelves, you know."

"But of course. If you would kindly lead the way and show me what you may recommend for my purchase," he said, winking at Hermione. "And of course, I shall require the approval of the most esteemed Miss Granger."

Mrs. Lupin enthusiastically obliged, stepping around the counter. "There are a few items in the back that have just arrived. Rare, but useful..."

Mr. Nott disappeared into the back shelves with Mrs. Lupin, her voice suddenly turning velvet with her attempts at persuasion.

Smiling to herself, Hermione began to put away the books the children had left out, before she heard the bells ring again above the shop door. Hermione looked up to discover that it was none other than Mr. Malfoy who had just walked in. She set the books down and curtsied to him. "Mr. Malfoy. What a surprise to see you here."

He bowed to her. "Miss Granger. I thought it appropriate to stop by to inquire how the last of the books arrived here."

"Yes, we received them last week, thank you. Unfortunately, we were dismayed to discover we have little room for them here, but that is happy problem to have." She paused, as if waiting for him to respond. He did not, and instead kept his gaze intently on her, and she continued. "The children have insisted on writing to thank you. You should be receiving them by owl sometime next week."

"That won't be necessary. I donated the books with no expectation of receiving anything in kind."

Was this forced humility, or was this simply him asserting that he did not find gestures of gratitude from poor children not worth his precious time? Hermione found this difficult to judge, both from his tone and expression. He offered so little in both regards, and today she almost found it almost too easy to settle on his arrogance by default.

"That may be so, but the children insist on it. They rarely have opportunity to express such gratitude, Mr. Malfoy. It is a thrill to them when they do."

He seemed to comprehend this. His face softened, just slightly. "I see. Then I shall look forward to reading them."

Just then, there was the sound of footsteps and voices returning from the rear of the shop. Hermione turned her head to watch a delighted Mr. Nott emerge with an object in his hand.

"Miss Granger, come and take a look at this oddity! Mrs. Lupin was particularly insistent on my possession of this relic." Mr. Nott stopped beside her, his expression changing quickly at the sight of the other gentlemen before him.

Hermione noticed that Mr. Malfoy's countenance, too, had changed quite dramatically. "Mr. Malfoy, might I introduce you to-"

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, but I have urgent matters I must attend to. Good day," Mr. Malfoy said, quickly bowing and exiting the shop with little hesitation or pause.

Hermione stared after him, once again finding herself in a state of confusion. "It appears the gentleman has a fondness for abrupt entrances and exits."

"I wish I could say his unpleasant manners shocked me. Mr. Malfoy is an abrupt sort of man," Mr. Nott remarked with a hint of distaste.

Hermione looked up at him, curious. "Are you acquainted with him, Mr. Nott? Forgive my boldness, but I could not help but notice a discernible lack of warmth between the two of you. I found it too severe a reaction for two mere strangers who had never met before."

Mr. Nott seemed to hesitate before answering. "Indeed, I have been acquainted with Mr. Malfoy and his family since birth," he said with some grimness - a rarity, for Hermione had known him to be such an easygoing, friendly man. "Perhaps you will allow me to tell you all about it while I accompany you on your walk back to the Burrow."

ooo

Indeed, Mr. Nott did reveal to her his history with the Malfoys. Mr. Nott's father had been the groundskeeper for the Malfoy Manor and a close friend of Lucius Malfoy, having been acquainted with each other through their schooling at Hogwarts. Nott and Malfoy played together often as young boys, and were even sorted into the same House together at Hogwarts. When Nott's father was killed due to an attempted break-in at Malfoy Manor, Mr. Malfoy assured Nott that he would always have a place at the Manor, as he considered his father practically family. Although Nott's father had not left much money for him after his death, Mr. Malfoy promised that he would look after him and that Nott would live on comfortably after graduating from Hogwarts.

"It was after my father's death that I noticed Draco's attitude towards me change dramatically," Mr. Nott soberly informed her. "Mr. Malfoy would often write to me, and I to him, about my progress at school. He was adamant about making sure I did not feel abandoned or lost after the passing of my father, and made every effort in making me feel as if I was part of his family. He even went as far as establish a vault for me at Gringott's, letting me know that he had set aside money for my living, after Hogwarts. This was an act of beyond kindness, for the money my father had left me had to be used to pay off his many gambling debts after his death.

I made the mistake of mentioning to Draco his father's acts of kindness to me during a time I was overwhelmed by the enormous generosity of his father. From that moment on, however, Draco did not behave as cordially to me as he had before. Indeed, I started to see a side to him I had only heard rumors of - a callous aloofness very unbecoming of a gentleman. He stopped speaking to me at school, and persuaded our mutual acquaintances to do the same."

"How cruel," Hermione cried. "Did you not consider telling his father of his pettiness?"

"Aye, I considered it, many times. But I already relied on his father for too much - how would it look to begin complaining about the vindictiveness of his only son? No, I could not burden Mr. Malfoy any further. A father cannot be responsible for his son's faults. Every witch and wizard is equipped with a consciousness to discern how they wish to treat people in the world."

"How right you are, Mr. Nott," Hermione agreed. "Did Mr. Malfoy's behavior towards you improve after Hogwarts?"

"No, Miss Granger. Quite the opposite, in fact. When his father passed, he left his estate and will to Draco to carry out his wishes. Draco felt this was the opportunity he had been waiting for to show me exactly how he felt about my relationship with his father - and he denied me the inheritance which I had been promised. Not only that, but I was disallowed from the grounds of Malfoy Manor and the rest of the land they owned."

Hermione gaped at him, horrified at the unfeeling nature of Mr. Malfoy revealed to her. "Mr. Nott, I am so sorry for everything you have gone through."

Mr. Nott shook his head. "It is not yours whose apology I seek, Miss Granger. Indeed, your willingness to hear such a tragic story only reassures me of the largeness of your compassion for others. But I pray - do not pity me. I do not regret the valuable lessons I have learned from such an ordeal. Without Draco's rejection, I may have never thought to pursue my dream of becoming an Auror for a living."

Hermione gazed up at him with admiration. "You are an exceptional man to be able to tell a story with such optimism."

Mr. Nott smiled at her. "It is because I know there are people like you in the world, Miss Granger, that I find I can stand the Mr. Malfoys that cross my path. Truly, I would face the spite of ten such men, if it meant I could walk you back to the Burrow more often and find you smiling in my direction like so."

At this, Hermione could only meet his gaze for a brief moment before having to look away, discovering herself in the rare state of being unusually flustered.

ooo

An owl arrived later that week to the Burrow from Netherfield Park, announcing news of another ball in a few weeks' time, generously being hosted at Netherfield Hall. No doubt, a grander affair than the last if one could believe it, if judging merely from the stationary.

Lavender arrived quickly soon thereafter, offering Ginny one of her dresses if Ginny did not find she owned one pretty enough.

"After all," Lavender asserted, "this may very be your last ball as _Miss Weasley_. You need a dress that will solidify your place as his wife, Ginny. And one cannot do so with a mediocre dress. You must look as if you had just floated down from the clouds, a divine creature amidst commoners. I have just come from Madame Toussaint's to request a new gown, myself. The new Aurors-in-training will be in attendance to the ball - I have confirmed it with Mr. Zabini himself, when I ran into him in town. A Mr. Finnegan, a Mr. Thomas, and the others - a dozen of very fine eligible men, indeed!"

This caught Hermione's attention. "Perhaps you have caught word of a Mr. Nott being in attendance?" she asked.

Lavender turned to her, as if only just realizing she was present. "I should be surprised if he wasn't. Anyone of note will be at the ball, for it will be the event of the season!"

Hermione laughed at this. "Sounds odious indeed."

Lavender scowled at her. "If you decide not to go, dearest Hermione, I doubt anyone shall miss you and your contemptuous remarks," she said dismissively.

"Oh Lavender, Hermione is only teasing," Ginny said. "Of course Hermione will be there, for how could she pass up the opportunity to dance with a certain gentleman?"

"Gentleman!" Lavender scoffed. "I should keel over in a dead faint if I come upon the day Hermione Granger has found a man worth silencing her own ego."

Hermione, who had been in high spirits lately, only laughed at this quite heartily as if it was the most amusing thing she had ever heard. Oh, if only Lavender knew!

Lavender left after an hour, claiming that she had changed her mind about the type of beading on her gown and went back to Madam Toussaint's. This left Hermione and Ginny to contemplate over their own ribbons for the ball. For the first time, Hermione actually found herself quite invested in the decision. The conundrum of which sort of white ribbon was - tragically - a welcome distraction to her thoughts. She found the idea of dancing with Mr. Nott quite invigorating. How willing of a dancer was he, she wondered? He certainly looked the part of a very capable dancer.

"Perhaps you might even oblige a dance to Mr. Malfoy," Ginny suggested, interrupting her thoughts. "Surely after his generosity with donating those books to Moony's, you might feel a little more inclined?"

Hermione snorted. "I would rather attempt a conversation with a screaming Mandrake than have to dance with Mr. Malfoy." She set down the ribbons, catching the curious expression on Ginny's face. "A week ago, Mr. Nott revealed to me the very unsavory character of Mr. Malfoy - one that cannot be forgiven by the delivery of several old schoolbooks."

Ginny's hands froze on the dress she had been airing out, alarmed. "Surely what he has done cannot be as unforgiveable as you say?"

"Mr. Nott has confirmed my initial impression of Mr. Malfoy, which is that he lacks any regard for anyone he considers inferior to himself," Hermione said, quite passionately. "The fact that he is nevertheless considered so respectable due to his family's name, property, and wealth is an affront to us all."

Ginny sat down, and Hermione began to tell her all about what Mr. Nott had told her about Mr. Malfoy. Her friend reacted to the information with equal horror.

"This is alarming news, Hermione, and certainly unexpected. But can you truly trust Mr. Nott's account after only having known him for but a month?" Ginny asked.

"There was no pretense in Mr. Nott's expression as he told me of his tragedy. I watched him most closely, and every part of his grief was genuine."

"But how can Mr. Malfoy be so awful - and have kept all of this in secret?"

"Wealth can certainly buy secrecy, Ginny. And those who cannot be persuaded by money to keep it secret bargain for something else more devious."

"Even from Mr. Zabini? He thinks the world of his friend, and has talked at length about how generous he is."

"Perhaps Mr. Zabini does know, but has heard it from Mr. Malfoy's account - no doubt he would have twisted the story to suit his agenda of appearing to be a respectable man. Mr. Malfoy has a tremendous sphere of influence, earned only by the name and possessions of his ancestors and not by his own accomplishments. Indeed, he is a foul sort of man, one that I hope to never encounter again."

Ginny frowned. "I pray then that it will be easy enough to avoid him at the ball in a few weeks."

"Believe me," Hermione said with ample disdain, "to say that it is in his best interest not to seek me out for the rest of his time at Netherfield Park would be putting it quite lightly."

* * *

Please review!


	7. The Span of One Short Wince

A/N: Thanks very much for all of the reads and reviews!

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Chapter Seven

Netherfield Hall was bustling with movement, feathers, yards of fine fabric and the dazzling, flushed smiles of every witch and wizard within Apparating proximity. Lines of luminous ladies and wizards in superbly tailored tailcoats trailed to the doors of Netherfield Hall, all in lively anticipation of a night of food, drinks, dancing, and most of all - making very advantageous connections.

Hermione walked to the back of the receiving line with the Weasleys, marveling at the way everyone seemed to transform themselves for a ball, sometimes even beyond immediate recognition. In this she could not exclude herself, for she had taken unusual care in her looks today, although with every bit of discretion she could afford. This did not prevent others from noticing, as even Ron had remarked on her appearance – a great shock to all, seeing that Ron had never once felt the need to acknowledge her in this manner before. This did, however, only reassure Hermione's confidence.

One of the servants found them and bowed. "Miss Weasley, Mr. Zabini has requested that you and your family come to the front of the line when you arrived. If you would please follow me."

"Oh, how kind of him indeed!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, as they followed after the man. As they moved past the dozens of others waiting in line, Hermione could feel their eyes follow after them. No doubt they would be much talked about tonight. She did, however, try to peer through the faces for Mr. Nott and found that he was not yet in line.

Ron noticed her wide, searching glance. "Looking for someone?"

"Just surveying the attendants to see if there is anybody I need avoid," she said quickly.

Ron laughed at her. "Hermione, you are a very unconvincing liar. I am not telling you so to offend you, but because I believe it is in your best interest to know, lest you have any grand plans of lying to anyone else tonight."

They were joyously greeted at the doors by Mr. Zabini. To no one's disbelief, Miss Parkinson offered a less than lukewarm hello, and Mr. Malfoy was nowhere to be found. Hermione hoped that perhaps this meant he had decided to return to Malfoy Manor, wherever that was.

"I beg you to enjoy the festivities inside," Mr. Zabini told then. "But I do request the first several dances with Miss Ginny, if there is no objection."

Unsurprisingly no objections came from their party, and they all moved indoors to join the others in marveling at the inherent elegance of Netherfield Hall.

"It is a merry good thing you are such a fine dancer, Ginny," Hermione commented to her. "Though I doubt that even if you were less than adequate that Mr. Zabini would hardly notice."

"I am looking forward to dancing with him very much," Ginny admitted. "Although I do not want him to neglect his host manners and forget to entertain the other ladies."

"Luckily that is for him to worry about, not you," Hermione replied. She passed her gaze over their surroundings again. "Do you think Mr. Nott is here yet? I did not see him in line, nor did I see him coming in."

"Perhaps he has just arrived and is in line now. I believe Lavender is already here. Perhaps she would know."

Ginny left her and Hermione found herself alone – with the other Weasleys having gone to peruse the many different varieties of food and drink available. She continued to look for Mr. Nott, passing by the other parties already deep in conversation.

"Holding two balls in one season is practically unheard of! What do you think he could mean by it?"

"Perhaps he means to establish himself in everyone's good graces."

"Yes, I have heard Miss Brown mention he quite dotes on Miss Weasley. Why, one of her brothers even told Mr. Sculthorpe that they expect him to propose soon! If that is indeed true, Miss Weasley will be one of the richest Weasleys in over a century!"

"Indeed - they can finally give that Burrow some much-needed improvements! Every year the house slants a little more to the left! Why, without magic I daresay the poor thing would have collapsed years ago."

Finally, in the distance Hermione saw Lavender Brown conversing with a uniformed gentleman. Perhaps he was one of the Aurors-in-training like Mr. Nott.

"Lavender," Hermione greeted, as they curtsied to each other.

"Hermione," she said. "What a surprise. You look… decent." A barely concealed slight. Hermione had received more sophisticated barbs to be offended by such trivial misdemeanors.

"You are too kind. I am wondering whether any of your friends know if Mr. Nott will be here shortly."

"Oh yes, Mr. Nott. I heard them talking about him earlier. No, I'm afraid he will not be coming tonight after all."

Hermione felt her whole anticipation for the night collapse most brutally at Lavender's words. "Are you certain? I spoke with Mr. Nott just a few days ago. He confirmed his attendance."

"I believe his decision was made quite in haste. There were some whisperings of his predisposition to attend tonight's event to be affected by one of the hosts of the ball," Lavender explained. "Do not look so dispirited, Hermione. After all, you out of everyone in this room ought to be familiar with the skills men possess in regards to the indelicate practice of avoidance?"

Hermione could not deny the gravity of her disappointment. Could Mr. Malfoy's presence here at Netherfield truly have scared away the gregarious Mr. Nott? If Mr. Malfoy was indeed here, she had not yet even seen the gentleman once tonight. Oh, leave it to that wretched man to ruin her one night of frivolity and dancing in the presence of someone she actually, genuinely enjoyed!

She departed from Lavender's company and grabbed herself some pumpkin juice, noticing Mr. Zabini and Ginny talking in a corner. Her view of the couple was suddenly obstructed by the presence of Mr. Longbottom.

"Miss Granger." He bowed to her, slightly awkwardly. "I am pleased to see you here."

"Mr. Longbottom," Hermione greeted, curtsying back. "It is nice to see you as well. Is this your first time here at Netherfield?"

"Yes, indeed. It is spectacular."

"Balls such as these provide opportunity for country people such as ourselves to pay due admiration to its grand beauty," Hermione smiled. "Add handsome girls in fine dresses and gentlemen in their best tailcoats, it is quite picturesque."

Mr. Longbottom graciously agreed again, and then cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning a remarkable shade of pink. "If I may be so bold, Miss Granger, to convey my intention in staying close to you during the evening," he said, nervously. "And to reserve a few dances with you, if you might be inclined."

Hermione was barely able to conceal her shock. She glanced around to find a few others curiously watching them closely from a distance, including Mr. Sculthorpe and Mrs. Weasley, over by the punch bowl. When she met their gaze they immediately turned away, as if absorbed in some riveting conversation.

"I am not the greatest dancer, I confess," he continued. "But I quite enjoy it. And I can be sure to remind you to cast a toe-shielding charm before we take a turn."

A trio of giggling young ladies in white dresses passed them. "Merlin's beard - look at all of the eligible, handsome men!" one of them shouted.

"I don't see why not," Hermione said, hesitantly. Truthfully, she could think of more odious dancing partners than the shy, bumbling Mr. Neville Longbottom. Had Mr. Nott persisted in making an appearance tonight, she might have had a justified reason in declining his offer, but alas, he did not.

Mr. Longbottom was visibly relieved, his forehead already gleaming with sweat. "What very good news. Thank you, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked around for Ginny in a sudden urge for a source of comfort, but found her already on the dancefloor, beginning a dance with Mr. Zabini. Mr. Longbottom caught the direction of her gaze and asked her if she wanted to have the next dance, to which she agreed, for the forced conversation between them began to feel torturous. If she had been in a better mood, perhaps, she would have been more inclined to seek out better amusement.

Hermione did indeed dance the next dance with Mr. Longbottom, and even the one after. Mr. Longbottom was a perfectly adequate dancer – a better dancer than Ron and Harry, in fact – when one did not take notice to how tall and gangly he was. He was, however, earnest enough – perhaps too earnest, as Hermione could feel the moisture of perspiration on his palms each time their hands made contact.

"What a fine dancer you are, Miss Granger," Mr. Longbottom complimented, as they applauded the orchestra. "Perhaps, if you do not find yourself fatigued, we might—"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted a canary yellow dress – a screaming visual in a sea of cream and white dresses. She realized she recognized the wearer immediately. "Miss Lovegood!"

Luna Lovegood came towards them with her bright hair and even brighter dress, eliciting a wave of unkind whispers and looks. Hermione was glad Miss Lovegood did not appear to notice the stir her outfit was causing. "Miss Granger. How nice to see a friendly face."

"What a remarkable dress," she complimented.

"Yes, my father insisted I wear yellow. It was my mother's favorite color."

"Your mother had splendid taste. Forgive me, this is Mr. Longbottom. Mr. Longbottom, this is Miss Lovegood. She is new transplant just like you. She and her father recently came from London."

"Yes, I have had the pleasure of Miss Lovegood's acquaintance," Mr. Longbottom smiled. "She stopped by the greenhouse a few weeks ago asking for an herb to ward away Nargles. Tell me, how did you fare on your quest, Miss Lovegood?"

Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood continued on with their conversation, much to Hermione's relief. She quietly excused herself, finding herself in great need of some fresh air and solitude. She walked through the halls but found crowds and parties lingering in every corner. She passed by Fred and George, who seemed to have strange, scheming looks on their faces, but which was not unusual to how Hermione usually came upon them. Harry and Ron were on the dancefloor with two pretty ladies, as were Ginny and Mr. Zabini. Everyone was perfectly preoccupied – everyone except her.

Hermione remembered the terrace that she had escaped off to during the night of the first ball, and began to make a beeline towards the entrance. With any luck, she could finally have some peace there. However, in her haste, she found herself nearly walking into the broad chest of a certain gentleman who very abruptly intersected her path.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes trailed up to the face of the man and found herself quite displeased at the reveal, forcing herself to curtsy and smile halfheartedly in greeting. "Mr. Malfoy."

"I hope you are enjoying yourself thus far."

"I am enjoying myself just fine, Mr. Malfoy."

"Good. May I have the next dance, Miss Granger?"

So potent was Hermione's ill feeling towards him at that very moment that she could not consider herself responsible for her answer, of which she could only claim a gross misspeak. "You may."

Without another word, he bowed and disappeared from her presence, and Hermione stared at where he had just stood, the fact dawning on her that she had just obliged a dance to Mr. Malfoy, the man she detested above all else this evening, against her very own wishes.

Unable to understand herself, Hermione nearly ran the rest of the way to the terrace. There were a few others out there, but she claimed the far corner of it, and they did not bother her.

She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. "Ridiculous girl!" she whispered to herself.

She heard her name, and Hermione looked up to see that Ginny had followed after her. "What are you doing out here looking so distraught?"

"You will never believe my foolishness, Ginny," Hermione said.

"What is it?"

"After I have spent the entire evening thus far cursing Mr. Malfoy's existence – for he is the reason Mr. Nott decided to abstain from tonight's festivities – in a moment of what I can only claim as pure insanity, I have…" She found that even saying the words aloud were a struggle. "…Obliged a dance to him."

Ginny's eyes widened. "A dance! I agree, it is very heinous indeed," she laughed.

"It is easy for you to make light of my situation after having danced the last five dances with the perfectly amiable Mr. Zabini, with his adoring eyes and handsome smile," Hermione muttered.

"Do not think I did not also see you dancing with Mr. Longbottom."

"Only because I could not avoid it. It is obvious Mr. Longbottom has become the victim of generous encouragement from your mother and his uncle."

"I am not surprised. Mr. Sculthorpe is very keen on finding a suitable match for his inexperienced nephew. He seems to think you would be a good match for him."

Hermione laughed at the thought. "Tell me honestly, Ginny - do you think me fitting to be the future Mrs. Longbottom, a herbologist's wife?"

Ginny smiled. "I find it hard to think anyone could deserve you, Hermione, for all your wit, intelligence, and kind heart. It is a shame Mr. Nott did not come tonight. Any man would be lucky to have you waiting in anticipation."

"Anticipation is a cruel emotion, that which is only greeted by the cold unfriendliness of disappointment when not followed through," Hermione sighed. "Perhaps to lift my spirits I might force myself to dance badly and injure some of Mr. Malfoy's toes with me in the process," she laughed bitterly.

"If I thought you would receive such a compliment well, I would perhaps tell you that many at this ball would consider you the object of such envy to have been asked to dance by Mr. Malfoy. Many women have been trying to catch his attention."

She snorted. "It is the attention of the ten thousand a year they are trying to catch. If only they knew his character - though I doubt they would care. A good deal of money apparently is sufficient justification to overlook grave flaws in a man's moral decency."

Ginny only smiled at her affectionately. "Laugh at me if you wish, but I do not believe a dance with him will be as torturous as you think. And even if it is, I pray it will end quickly. Finished in the span of one short wince."

"Oh Ginny. How I wish I could borrow even just a drop of your optimism."

"Then, dearest Hermione, leave it to me to be optimistic enough for the both of us."

ooo

Hermione felt the solid weight of dread in the pit of her stomach as she and Mr. Malfoy woodenly greeted each other on the dancefloor. She glanced at his face as the song started, unable to deny her curiosity despite her displeasure. She wondered what could have possibly compelled the man to ask her to dance. Perhaps he had caught on to the fact that his very presence caused her great discomfort, and thus did it with the intention of incensing her under the watchful eyes of everyone from town. Was this way of challenging her threshold for propriety and self-control while fostering such disdain? She entertained many guesses – none more flattering than the previous – and yet his expression insufferably gave away nothing of what he could possibly mean by such a gesture.

It was not a particularly lively dance, nor was it a slow one. Hermione wished with every drop of magic in her blood that Ginny's hopes would prove true and that the dance would indeed be over quickly. Standing with Mr. Malfoy, she could almost feel the thoughts of those who had taken notice of their odd pairing and were brazenly openly speculating. It was no secret now that Mr. Malfoy, though wealthy, well-educated and handsome, was an arrogant sort of man, and Hermione did not wish to spoil herself by the association.

To her surprise, it was Mr. Malfoy who initiated conversation.

"Might I inquire how things are faring at the shop?" he asked.

"They are faring just fine, thank you," she answered curtly. "The new books have certainly helped in invigorating the lessons."

"Yes, I received the notes from the children. Thank you for sending them to me."

"They were happy to write them. I thought it only appropriate to send."

There was a brief pause in their conversation as they temporarily switched partners. When they returned, he had yet another question for her.

"Tell me, does the shop often receive new visitors?"

"Not very often, but this season has proven vigorous by introducing several new faces in town. In fact, I believe you had the chance of meeting one such visitor when you stopped by. Mr. Nott has already made himself distinct by fostering a variety of friendships in and outside of town."

Mr. Malfoy faintly bristled at the mention of the gentleman. "Mr. Nott is blessed with the charm to make friends easily, but his ability at retaining such friendships is at best questionable."

"Yes, I believe he's been so unfortunate to be unable to retain your friendship, has he not?" she said coldly.

At this, Mr. Malfoy stepped closer to her, ignoring the next steps to the dance. "My history with Mr. Nott extends back to childhood, and while his life has dealt him a few tragic circumstances, the loss of this friendship you so casually mention has nothing to do with his misfortunes. Might I ask why you take such an interest in Mr. Nott's relationships?"

Others began to look at them oddly for interrupting the dance, so they continued on with the subsequent dance steps. They circled each other, mutual displeasure emanating from the both of their features.

"It is not _his_ relationships, Mr. Malfoy's – but yours. To make out your character."

"And what have you discovered?"

"That I cannot say. I hear such contrary accounts of you from all sides. I am beginning to think that perhaps nobody here in this room knows you at all."

He stepped back, allowing for some distance in between them. This, however, did not succeed in dissipating the tension between them. "That is unfortunate, indeed. I have never sought out with the intention of being difficult to evaluate. I hope to offer you more clarity in the future."

Hermione did not know what to make of his statement, nor the look he offered her as he said it. She did not have much time to contemplate on this, however, as suddenly there was a loud, shocking noise and the entire room quickly began to fill up with thick purple smoke. The music halted and screams filled the air as she felt bodies rush past her, nearly causing her to fall in their hasty exit. She felt a strong hand grab her arm, keeping her from toppling over.

As if the vanished visibility and chaos was not enough, a pungent smell infiltrated the air, causing her to gag. More shrieks followed as the disaster widened its scope, with the purple haze and the sharp odor both stinging her eyes. She frantically reached for her wand underneath her skirts, but was prevented by the others bumping into her, trying to escape in a panicked hurry.

Finally, the smoke suddenly cleared, and with it, the acrid smell. Through watery eyes, Hermione was able to catch a glimpse of Mr. Malfoy with his wand drawn before he quickly put it away.

As she surveyed the scene before her, she could not help but be amazed at the extent of damage that could be done in so little time. Dresses were torn, ladies were crying, more than a few people had fallen and injured themselves in their hurriedness to get away. Numerous people were coughing, tears streaking their cheeks. There were more shouts of commotion, and Hermione peered above the heads of the crowd to see that two guards had accosted Fred and George Weasley, their faces red but triumphant, the obvious culprits of the prank.

Hermione thought she could hear Mrs. Weasley's gasp of horror echo across the room from where she stood.

Ginny had been right, after all. Her dance with Mr. Malfoy had ended very quickly, indeed.


	8. Unsuitable in Every Way

A/N: Hello! A short chapter, but a change in POV! I've had a few requests for some Draco POV, and I thought this would be an interesting place to put it. I do, however, pretty much plan to keep the rest of the fic in Hermione's POV just because I've already gotten so immersed in telling it from her POV, buuuut who knows! ;) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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Chapter Eight

After the unexpected event of the night and the departure of guests from Netherfield Hall, Draco Malfoy found himself having a nightcap in the drawing room with Blaise Zabini and his cousin, Miss Pansy Parkinson. Blaise, true to his indiscriminately forgiving nature, had laughed off the prank from the Weasley twins, while Pansy had spent the rest of the evening fuming as elegantly and silently as a lady prone to offense could.

"Blaise, now you cannot tell me that tonight's events have had no effect whatsoever in your feelings towards Miss Weasley," Pansy said most viciously, as soon as they were alone. "Or in the very least, her family!"

Since the very moment Blaise had shown a tender inclination towards Miss Weasley, Pansy had despised it with a passion. She often remarked on how she thought her cousin tasteless, despite admitting herself the uncommon prettiness of Miss Weasley and her decent manners. But the young lady's lack of connections and low status caused her great offense and that which she could not forgive.

"It was her brothers who played a harmless prank - and they apologized most profusely for their behavior. I don't see how that has anything to do with Miss Weasley. She has acted with perfect manners in every encounter I have had with her."

This was not an acceptable answer to Pansy, whose eyes narrowed into a withering glare. " _Cousin, what happened_ _tonight_ was _unacceptable_. Her brothers are imbeciles. The sheer disrespect they showed tonight at the ball by causing such a scene is inexcusable. To think of the laughingstock they made us! And after welcoming them here to Netherfield Hall – crowds of country wizards and witches with little to no distinction tainting these halls, without a shred of refinement to their manners - all because _you_ felt so very inclined to dance with Miss Weasley! No, this must stop, Blaise. Mr. Malfoy and I have humored you long enough with your little crush, but you are now risking the Zabini name with any further association with the Weasleys."

Blaise only laughed. "Malfoy, tell Pansy she's gotten too carried away with her dramatics."

"I'm afraid I'm inclined to agree with her, Zabini," Draco replied grimly.

Blaise turned to him in shock. "Surely you must be joking!"

"We've entertained your affections for Miss Weasley long enough. Although she bears no fault in what transpired this evening, tonight has made it all the more apparent that she is ill-suited to be your match."

"I think it hardly just to punish her just because her brothers happened to find a way to amuse themselves at a ball. You saw her horror, Malfoy. She was beyond humiliated."

"As she should be," Pansy hissed. "Her family is ridiculous. This is a grievous offense in addition to the fact that they are poor and tainted by the association of having a Muggleborn witch as a ward. Heavens! What would your poor mother think of this?"

Blaise's expression sobered as he became silent, as if deep in thought. Draco did think Pansy's words were a little severe - but the sentiments she presented were accurate and true. Miss Weasley did seem every bit of a pleasant woman, but her family and circumstance proved to be insurmountable. Not only that, but Draco had taken it upon himself to watch the interaction between Miss Weasley and his dear friend very closely throughout the night in an effort to discern her true intentions. Indeed, Blaise's affection toward her had been far from concealed - but if this was mutual on Miss Weasley's part, Draco had found it hard to determine. She obliged his dances and his conversation, but she seemed too demure and gentle - altogether too polite and indifferent. No, after tonight, he was convinced she did not feel towards Blaise in the same manner that his dear friend felt towards her. To add that to her unfortunate circumstance that was her family and lack of significant connections, he knew that to save his friend from heartache and financial manipulation he would have to convince him to sever all ties with her.

He, after all, had seen all too well what could happen when he resisted interfering in a situation in which he felt an ominous alarm. Blaise was a trusting, kind gentleman. He hated the thought of seeing bitterness and grief transform him into another man entirely, if he allowed such betrayal come into fruition.

"I would appreciate you not to bring up my mother, Pansy," Blaise said quietly. "It is hard enough to honor the opinions of the living, let alone the dead."

Pansy continued her reprimand. "Perhaps I cannot fault you too much. Men are fools for a pretty woman. You have obviously been ensnared by her beauty and charms, but know this: your Miss Weasley has set her sights on you for your high station and wealth and nothing else."

"I do not believe that at all. She has not once talked of my wealth, and speaks very little of material possessions."

Draco knew that it would take a little bit more work to convince Blaise to let her go. Yes, it had been a mistake to allow him the opportunity to let his feelings for her grow so deep. "Then perhaps her indifference would be evidence enough."

Blaise turned his head to stare at his dear friend. "You think her indifferent to me?"

"As your friend, it brings me no pleasure to tell you this, as I know how deeply you feel for Miss Weasley. What I tell you I must tell you for the preservation of your feelings, and with intention of preventing you future heartache. I have watched you two interact most closely. She does not show a reciprocation for your affection - politeness, yes, and friendliness is a given. But if you are under any impression that she shares the passion you feel for her, you are gravely mistaken."

Blaise appeared disheartened by this. "Is this truly what you believe you saw, Malfoy?"

"I would not do you the dishonor of lying to you. I value our friendship too much to see you begin any sort of relationship under a falsehood."

He sat there for a minute, no doubt focusing his energy on what he had just heard. He looked at his friend again but there was a difference in his expression – a considerable amount of his amusement and joy had been stripped away. "I thank you for your honesty."

Shortly after, Blaise left the drawing room with little more to say and retired for the night. Draco sought to finish his drink, somber and not in a mood to congratulate himself for sending his friend to bed with disappointment and dashed hopes.

"I wish you would not look so grim, Malfoy. Blaise is lucky to have you," Pansy smirked. Her mood had much improved since her initial tirade concerning the Weasleys. "After my dear cousin is done nursing his wounded ego, he will be grateful to us. There will be plenty of pretty ladies of good breeding back in London when we return tomorrow."

This was news to Draco. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes. I do not think it would be wise to allow Blaise to linger here after such a revelation. I would prefer to deprive him of any opportunity to seek Miss Weasley out."

"Very well. I believe much of our business can be completed with a few owls sent in the morning." Indeed, Draco agreed with Pansy's logic of taking Blaise away in hopes of distracting him to a quick recovery of his emotions, but he could not deny the faint disappointment that he felt at the thought of leaving.

"There is one thing I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Malfoy. You would perhaps be surprised to know that I too had been engaging in my own methods of observation. And while you were not fulfilling your duty as Blaise's confidant and watching him with Miss Weasley, I noticed your gaze lingering quite frequently on a certain Muggleborn witch."

Draco tensed, and his mood became very foul very quickly. "You take too much interest in where my gaze happens to land."

"You danced with her, too. You had not told me you intended to dance with her."

"I had not. The dance was spontaneous."

"Spontaneous?" Pansy laughed, as if finding the very idea ridiculous. "You, Mr. Malfoy, do not have a single spontaneous bone in your body. Pray, indulge my curiosity. How was it, dancing with Miss Granger? I daresay she did not look too pleased to be your partner; I will admit I wonder why she even said yes."

Here he could not deny the truth in her words. Infuriatingly so, Miss Granger had looked at him with barely muted disdain all night. After the donation of his old school books to the shop, he had hoped that he would garner some favor with her, but perhaps that was too high of a price for a woman like her. Her reaction to his asking her to dance certainly rejected his expectations as she did not respond with the predicted enthusiasm and gratitude of other ladies. It appeared to be in her nature to deviate from all societal norms. Her enigma was insufferable.

"Miss Granger was a perfectly adequate partner." Indeed, he had watched her dance before. She was a lovely dancer, when she happened to be with a partner she actually found amiable. This had not precluded him from feeling a slight tingle in his hands, however, when their hands touched briefly during the dance. He blamed this merely a symptom of the tendency of Miss Granger's presence to make him almost too aware of himself, even in a crowded room such as a ball.

"You two also seemed to be quite rapt in conversation. Whatever could stir such passion during so mild a dance? I have noticed Miss Granger has quite the talent in incensing you."

It was as if Miss Granger had a supernatural ability in knowing exactly the topics that would irk him so. How did she know to bring up the unscrupulous Mr. Nott? No doubt, he had seen him at the shop that day when he had come to inquire about the delivery of the books, and he had heard mutterings amongst the townspeople of the gentleman's lingering there.

"The topics of conversation touched upon during my half a dance with Miss Granger hardly warrants such interest."

Pansy laughed softly and without any genuine amusement. "Forgive my intrusion. I am just wondering if, perhaps, you are beginning to foster a certain… _fondness_ towards Miss Granger."

Draco clenched his jaw. He was certainly no stranger to Pansy Parkinson's cold methods of manipulation and extraction – she made no efforts in hiding it, and he had spent a great deal of time in her and her cousin's confidence – but it did still repulse him when he encountered it, especially in the rare occasion it was directed at him. "I assure you, I am not."

"You words tell me one thing, but I saw the way you observed her tonight. However, I am none too worried. You, after all, are fully aware that she is the worst possible match for you in every way. You are smarter than Blaise to let your emotions sway you away from a pragmatic marriage." She raised one eyebrow at him, a smug expression proudly displaying itself across her aristocratic features. "Are you not, Mr. Malfoy?"

 _She is the worst possible match for you in every way._ He almost wondered how Pansy would react if he'd confessed to her that ever since the moment he'd first met Miss Granger, he'd had to remind himself of that very fact every day.

"Had you fostered such worries, they would indeed be wasted on me. Now if you would please excuse me, it's been a long evening, and I intend to retire for the night."

He bowed to her and promptly left the room, eager to be as far away from her as quickly as possible. He attempted to retire to bed as he had said, but he found his mind still distracted, occupied by the night's events. He had been to plenty of balls and even the occasional country assembly before, none of which he could say had been particularly remarkable in his last twenty-three years. But tonight Draco had felt differently. He had certainly behaved differently – dancing with a woman not of comparable status as himself, and far from any semblance of good breeding! It was no wonder Pansy had been paying such close attention.

He could not say what had compelled him into engaging with Miss Granger in such a way, except that in no uncertain terms he had simply felt _compelled_. Indeed, such an irrational emotion, the powerful compulsion to be close to her – of this he could not claim any precedent, which was perhaps the most horrifying part of it all. Draco Malfoy was not used to feeling so inclined to a person of whom it was very obvious did not gaze upon him with the same… conflict in feelings. No, indeed, the fact was apparent that Miss Granger did not feel any sort of hesitation or reservation in her dislike of him.

This he could live with, as despite his curiosity about her, he disliked her in the same manner. He found many aspects of her reproachful and unsuitable. Her manners, while as evidenced perfect in general society, veered towards improper towards him, with not even half of an effort given to conceal her frustrations. And then there were the obvious blemishes - her blood and status as an orphaned ward with no money to her name. With all of this combined, no other gentleman of his standing would even so much as glance her way.

And yet – Malfoy found himself riveted by the fire he found so unique in her. All other highbred ladies were so demure and set on showcasing perfection in every ladylike attribute, their laughs practiced to resemble angel choirs, their smiles gentle yet often disingenuous. Although the ladies in his standing touted accomplishments and education that were more than fitting, he had not once heard any of them talk with even the half the passion about a single subject as he had seen from Miss Granger, nor reveal such a desire for intellectual critique. Perhaps passion – or the display of it – was not considered ladylike, and if this was true, he could see why. Something primal stirred inside him whenever Miss Granger spoke to him about something in which she made very evident she desired to prove him wrong in. While his first few encounters with her were no doubt jarring, he now found himself frequently wondering what her thoughts would be on some matter or another. Unsuitable for him in every way Miss Granger might be, but dull and uncaptivating she most certainly was not.

Indeed, his gesture of asking her to dance this evening had been another one of his awkward efforts to speak with her. It had also allowed him to gaze upon her in much closer proximity than he usually allowed. He'd judged Miss Granger only tolerable in appearance upon first making her acquaintance, but in this respect he found his initial verdict drastically changed. With her expressive dark eyes and flushed cheeks, her slightly tanned skin from her days walking out in the sun, her brown hair in soft tendrils, her lips – scowling or laughing or slipping in some witty remark other ladies dare not utter – Miss Granger had become something else altogether. Still not quite as handsome as Miss Weasley - but something more, something better. Had Draco ever encountered such a thing before he might have had a more eloquent word for it, but alas, Draco Malfoy found himself quite immersed in foreign territory these days – and not exactly by his own will.

And now their party would be leaving Netherfield Park to return to London tomorrow, reinserting themselves back into the company they were so familiar with. Draco found both relief and disappointment in this – although the latter he would never admit to. He could not be so open as his dear friend Blaise, whose intentions were too very pure to be obscured. He would be sure to wake early tomorrow to send off owls to reserve activities for the pair of them in an effort to distract his friend from the bitter grief of unreturned affection.

That is – if he could manage to get any sleep tonight, himself.

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Please review!


	9. The Morning After

**A/N:** Hello! Sorry for the wait. BEFORE YOU READ THIS CHAPTER, please check if you've read the previous chapter because I was told by a reader that the site did not send out chapter notifications for it. So please check that! I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss some good ol' Draco POV.

And also because we won't be seeing Draco in this chapter, but he won't be gone for too long!

Friendly disclaimer: I borrowed the line "Nothing destroys spirit like poverty" from the film Becoming Jane (2007).

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Chapter Nine

The next morning brought with it a foreign mood Hermione had scarcely encountered during her time in the Burrow – a tense and grim cloud hanging above them over the previous night's events and how it might have affected Ginny's chances with Mr. Zabini. The mischievous reputation of Fred and George was indeed well-known for those who knew the Weasleys – and was even regarded with some kind of overall affection, as Fred and George could be quite charming even while they were turning everybody's eyebrows blue with some kind of new experiment - but never had they endeavored a prank in such an elegant setting. Assemblies and common gatherings, sure – that was to be expected, at this point. But never at a place as grand as Netherfield Hall, and never during a time when a promising proposal could be at stake for their youngest sister. Perhaps the anxiety hanging over their family would have been lessened by half if Mr. Zabini's income was less alluring.

Fred and George were at breakfast, trying their best to lighten the atmosphere after their very recent public transgression, but it was obvious the night's events were still too fresh for Mrs. Weasley, who could not find the energy this morning to entertain them. Mr. Weasley contributed to the chatter but mostly busied himself with the morning's issue of the Daily Prophet. This left the children to talk amongst themselves about the more trivial details of the ball, avoiding any and all mention of Mr. Zabini.

"We saw something very interesting last night, didn't we, George?" Fred said, quirking his eyebrows at Hermione.

"Yes, we did."

"What did we see again, dear brother?"

"None but our very own Miss Hermione Granger dancing with the eternally displeased Mr. Malfoy."

At this, Hermione noticed Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows rise from across the table – the first change in her expression this morning.

"I saw that as well," Ron commented. "I thought you disliked him, Hermione."

"I do," she replied matter-of-factly. "He's arrogant and condescending and has a keen talent in repelling any sort of warm emotions from flourishing in his presence."

Ron found this quite amusing. "Pray, do you always dance with men you claim to despise?"

"I was being _polite_ ," she said firmly. "And he ambushed me. I was not even aware he was at the ball until he abruptly appeared and asked me for a dance. I was rather caught off guard."

Fred and George snorted. "That's an excuse if I've ever heard one."

"Just admit it, Hermione. Even you aren't immune to the allure of the handsome albeit grumpy Mr. Malfoy and his ten thousand a year," Fred teased.

Ginny smiled at this. "I disagree. I think it is Mr. Malfoy who has proven he is not immune to Hermione's allure."

George snorted. "You mean to the allure of a smart-mouthed, intelligent, well-read woman who freely speaks her mind even to the detriment of her subject of criticism? I think, my dear sister, you are very much mistaken."

They all erupted in laughter without any concern that it was at Hermione's expense.

"Say what you like, but I believe it is quite clear Mr. Malfoy and I share a mutual disregard for each other," Hermione said. "Which ought to be good news for all of the other ladies endeavoring to bewitch him into matrimony. And - I hope it is soon. Once he is married he will have no reason to be so actively out in society, and will have less opportunity to oppress such jubilant affairs." At this comment, Hermione thought of the night she could have had with Mr. Nott, had Mr. Malfoy's presence not thwarted the gentleman from attending.

An owl suddenly flew into one of the open windows of the Burrow, dropping off an envelope and nearly landing in Ron's breakfast. He reached out and picked it up. "It's for Ginny."

Mrs. Weasley perked up. "An owl? So early in the morning?"

Equally surprised, Ginny took the letter from him and opened it quickly. "It's from Pansy Parkinson," she announced, and a great hush came over the table.

Mrs. Weasley's expression grew concerned at this piece of news. "Miss Parkinson? Read on quickly, Ginny, and tell us the news."

They all watched in anticipation as Ginny's eyes scanned the letter. Once, and then a second time. Something flickered across her face, and Hermione felt dread erupt from the pit of her stomach.

"She wrote to tell me that they are gone from Netherfield Hall as of this morning, and are probably already in London as we speak," Ginny said, tucking the letter away. She did not meet the eyes of anybody at the table, although she tried her best to keep her voice steady and unexpressive. Nevertheless, everybody felt the impact of this. Mrs. Weasley clutched her chest and sat back, now past attempting to veil her distress.

"Did she give a reason why?" Hermione asked.

"She wrote that the men missed the city, and that Miss Greengrass was home for the holiday, which only exacerbated the need to return immediately."

"Perhaps they will spend some time in London and will return—" Hermione started.

"Miss Parkinson made it clear they do not intend to return," Ginny said quietly. She looked up at the disappointed looks of her family. "Please, I wish you would not look at me that way. I'm quite fine. Mr. Zabini provided ample distraction and entertainment. He is a good man, and I wish him every good fortune." She looked back down at her plate, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere. "Please excuse me. I think I need a walk."

Ginny stood up and exited the Burrow, and Hermione followed after her. It had rained late last night, and her boots sank into the mud as she hurried after her.

"Ginny! Ginny, wait," Hermione said, catching up to her.

"I don't mean to be rude, Hermione, but I'd really like to be alone," Ginny said to her, softly. It was clear how disheartened she was from the news of Mr. Zabini's hasty departure. "You are only going to try to make me laugh by talking ill about the world, and right now I do not feel like laughing."

"I have no doubt that this is all Miss Parkinson's scheming," Hermione said to her, determinedly. "She senses her cousin's attachment to you and she is doing everything she can to prevent him from following his feelings. Your Uncle Bilius lives in London, does he not? I will suggest to Mrs. and Mr. Weasley that you stay there for a few weeks. I am sure that when Mr. Zabini hears you are in London, he will sneak away from her poisonous grasp and come to you."

"I appreciate your optimism, Hermione, but is it not simpler to accept that perhaps he did not feel for me as deeply as you thought? If he was so easily persuaded by his cousin—"

"Do not give up, Ginny," Hermione said. "Yes, that may be simpler, and easier to accept. But is it actually the truth? We cannot always believe what others tell us. If anything, he owes it to the both of you to seek you out himself and tell you to your face, not through the insidious words of his cousin."

Ginny seemed to comprehend this. "Thank you, Hermione. You have given me much to think about. I will see you back at the Burrow. Please – go back and finish your breakfast."

With a nod, Hermione watched as Ginny walked away from the Burrow, following a path that Hermione herself had walked very many times. Determined, Hermione went back to tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about her plan to send Ginny to Wizarding London, for she so believed that there was more to this than Miss Parkinson had written. She only hoped she was right about Mr. Blaise Zabini.

ooo

It was in the afternoon that an owl came for Hermione. Mr. Weasley had just sent off a letter requesting for Ginny to stay at her uncle's in London for a month for a friendly visit. Her uncle's wife had just given birth to a new baby girl, and with four other young children, Mr. Weasley was sure he would not turn up the opportunity to have an extra pair of hands in the house to help out with the little ones.

Hermione took her letter outside, settling underneath the shade of a tree. In the distance she could see Harry and Ron on their brooms, playing a makeshift game of Quidditch. They waved over to her before resuming their game.

When she opened the letter, she was surprised to see that the letter was from Mr. Nott.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _I am very sorry to have missed the pleasure of dancing with you at the ball. I have heard from my comrades about the events of the night. I would have liked very much to have endured it all with you and have ended the night in stitches from laughter._

 _Unfortunately, I am writing to tell you that some urgent business has taken me away from the country. It is of a sensitive and confidential matter, which will prevent me from writing to you. At this present moment, I do not know when I will return, but I am writing to give you every confidence that you will not be far from my thoughts._

 _I know that the vagueness of this letter will disappoint you, but I can tell you with certainty – I will return. I owe you a dance, after all. I am only hoping you will be kind enough to oblige me._

 _Yours,_

 _T. Nott._

She read it once and then again, unable to suppress her profound disappointment. Today seemed to be an optimum for time for the amiable men in their province to mysteriously pack up their things and disappear with little to no explanation. At least he had assured her that he would return. But when? How long was Hermione to wait for him? And would she be able to – could she allow herself? It seemed she found herself in quite a similar situation as Ginny, after all. At least Ginny had the luxury of knowing Mr. Zabini's next destination.

When Hermione returned to the Burrow after her errands and chores, it was suppertime. Mr. Weasley had already heard back from his brother in London who had heartily extended an invitation for Ginny to come acquaint herself with her newest cousin. Ginny was to pack tonight and leave by Floo tomorrow in the morning. At this, Ginny was agreeable, but although Hermione could see a new spark of hope in her, she could sense her caution. Ginny, ever a sensible female, and was taking care not to get her hopes up too high.

Later that night, Hermione watched as Ginny packed her belongings for her trip. Her selected items floated from her closet and arranged themselves neatly into her trunk.

"I am excited to see the baby," Ginny was explaining to her. "Papa was telling me that things are a little bit hectic at the house at the moment. If I can help with that in any way I would be glad to have been of some use. But I am also curious to see how the city's changed. I have not been there in some years."

"Yes, please do explore," Hermione said. "And write back to me with great detail of all of the neat innovations of the city."

"That I will most certainly do," Ginny grinned. "Oh, I think I will miss you very much, Hermione."

"Surely not. You'll have crying babies and sloppy toddlers to look after. You'll not have the time to miss me, nor the energy. But you _will_ make time to write to me, or I shall attempt the impossible and be very cross with you."

Ginny laughed. "I will not go a day without writing, I promise. Even if it's one mere sentence." Ginny's trunk magically closed when it was full, locking itself with a loud click. Ginny looked up at her as if she had just remembered something. "Forgive me. With everything that's happened, I'd forgotten to ask if you've heard from Mr. Nott regarding his absence from the ball."

Hermione's tone changed dramatically into one of somberness. "Indeed, I received an owl from him just today. He apologized for missing the ball, but he – like your Mr. Zabini – has been summoned away from the country. He could not give any other details but claimed it was of a confidential nature."

"Summoned away? Do you think it's Auror business?"

"I can't imagine it being anything else."

"Will he return?"

"He promised he would, but does not know when."

Ginny frowned. "How agonizing. I am very sorry to hear that, Hermione. It seems the universe is quite keen of depriving you of Mr. Nott's handsome charms."

Hermione laughed. "The problem is - the universe does what it likes without having to answer to anyone, and then we are here, trying to conjure up reasons why misfortunes befall us, as if the logic of the universe exists in the same plane as ours does."

"It keeps the mind stimulated, I suppose," Ginny smiled. She set down her hairbrush and got into bed beside Hermione, darkness filling the room as she heard the rustle of the sheets.

"Hermione," Ginny said softly, after a few moments. Her words were slow and careful. "What if… he doesn't come to see me while I'm in London?"

Hermione stared up at the dark ceiling, slightly surprised at her question. It was rare for Ginny to express such vulnerability, even to Hermione, with whom she shared a room and a bed. "Then he is not the wizard who deserves you, Ginny."

A few more moments of silence crept by before Ginny said good night, and they both pretended to fall asleep.

ooo

Hermione and the Weasleys said their goodbyes to Ginny after breakfast. Mrs. Weasley was particularly tearful as she hugged her daughter, reminding her to write often and to help out in whatever way she could with her uncle's growing family. Mrs. Weasley had sent her own owl to Aunt Daphyne, Uncle Bilius's wife, explaining the situation. Aunt Daphyne reassured her that she would spread the word of Ginny's arrival at every opportunity to ensure that Mr. Zabini would catch word she was in town.

With Ginny gone, Hermione spent most of her day at Moony's, filling Mrs. Lupin in on the recent happenings at the Burrow. The wonderfully odd Luna Lovegood even stopped by to have a little chat, with the first edition of the Quibbler in her arms. They took a pile to place at the counter of the shop, and Luna moved on to the other shops in town.

It was odd how much she could feel Ginny's absence at the Burrow. Ginny was never particularly talkative, nor exciting, but her presence soothed Hermione, knowing that she could count on Ginny to talk to. Having the room to herself – so quiet, so lonely – was too distracting, so she spent her night reading until she fell asleep.

The next day, however, was made distinct by an unexpected visit from Mr. Neville Longbottom. He came shortly after breakfast without announcement, equipped with a few stalks of floribunda roses and his upper lip already coated in perspiration. He asked for an audience with only her, so Hermione led him outside, underneath the shade of the tree, where they might have some privacy – although she could see the heads of the Weasleys in the nearest window, watching the pair of them with unbridled curiosity.

"Forgive me - these are for you," Mr. Longbottom said nervously, thrusting the roses at her. They were a beautiful shade of pink and fully bloomed. She recognized them from his uncle's greenhouse.

"Thank you, they're very beautiful," Hermione said kindly, albeit confused. She noticed his odd behavior. "Might I ask the purpose of the roses – and of this visit?"

"Of course." Mr. Longbottom swallowed deeply, and he began to pace. "Miss Granger, I've come – I've come to… to…" He paused, as if to start again. His voice was quiet but ramping up in slow confidence. "I know that I am perhaps not the most handsome prospect, nor the most eloquent, or financially lucrative, but… I've come here to you to ask if you would accept an offer of marriage," he said. He met her eyes earnestly. "To me. As my… my wife."

Hermione stared at him, shocked. Indeed, she had accepted that perhaps Mr. Longbottom might have had a crush on her, but most of that she had attributed to an overall clumsiness in knowing how to engage with females. Never had she imagined that she might inspire him to make her an offer of marriage.

She found herself quite at a loss for words. "Mr. Longbottom, I am beyond flattered that you would even think to offer this to me. I think of you as a very amiable, respectable man. But I'm afraid… I'm afraid I cannot accept."

A few moments passed as Mr. Longbottom blinked at her until comprehension of her rejection finally dawned on his features. His voice lowered with disappointment, and the tips of his ears flared pink with embarrassment. "I see. I'm very sorry to have taken up your time, Miss Granger."

"Please do not take my refusal personally, Mr. Longbottom," she explained hastily, as he turned to leave. "I think of you as a good friend, and I have no doubt you would make a fine husband to any woman here. But I have sworn to myself – quite inconveniently, some would say – that I cannot marry for anything else but love."

His face softened at this. "Love," he repeated to himself. "What a mysterious thing, love is. Miss Granger, I've studied Herbology my whole life, even before I came to train with my uncle. I've studied plants – how to care for them, how to make them grow. It's through this that I've learned how to master patience. I know that perhaps, right now, you do not love me. I am not naïve enough to take that personally. But I also know that love can grow organically – just like plants, it just needs some time and a little water and sun. Proper encouragement, and opportunity. But I respect your answer, Miss Granger. And I thank you for being honest with me."

Hermione nodded, feeling grateful that Mr. Longbottom was such an understanding man. Indeed, he was sure to make any woman happy as her husband – just not her. "Here," she said, handing him back the roses.

He shook his head. "Please, those were for you. Something to remember me fondly by." He smiled at her, although his eyes did not smile with him. "Good day, Miss Granger."

When Hermione returned to the Burrow, everybody had reoccupied their seats back at the table and put up a great façade in trying to appear busy and nonchalant. Hermione was still flustered from what had happened and sat down, unable to say a word.

"Well? Do not keep us in suspense, dear Hermione," Fred said, breaking the awkward silence. "I take it we are not looking at the future Mrs. Neville Longbottom?"

Hermione shook her head, still in a daze. "No."

Mrs. Weasley looked disappointed, although Mr. Weasley did not look one bit surprised.

Everybody at the table jumped when Fred whooped and George groaned. "That's two sickles from you, dear brother!" Fred crooned.

Hermione looked over at Ron, who explained. "They had a bet on how long it would take Mr. Longbottom to propose to you and for you to refuse him."

"Do you have no respect for yourselves?" Mrs. Weasley scolded. "Gambling on the misfortunes of other people? What sort of sons have I raised, indeed!"

"Do not upset yourself, dear," Mr. Weasley said. "One day our dear Fred and George will experience the heartbreak of female rejection and the world shall have its due vengeance."

This thought did not appear to please Mrs. Weasley either, although everybody else found it greatly amusing. Hermione took over Ginny's chores in her absence and helped Mrs. Weasley clear the table before heading outside to tend and water their herbs. The Weasleys' herb garden had been something of a recent development, thanks in large part to Mr. Longbottom. Hermione had spent most of her savings to help start it for the Weasleys, as she knew it would help them a great deal in the long run.

It was a few hours before Hermione was done with the garden, and when she was finished, she was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley waiting for her at the gate.

"I must apologize to you, dearest Hermione, that I did not warn you about Mr. Longbottom's forthcoming proposal," Mrs. Weasley said, as they walked together. Her fingers anxiously fidgeted with the edge of her apron. "Mr. Sculthorpe had made it very clear to me that he thought you a good match for his nephew, and I agreed with him."

"I am sorry to hear that. I must have disappointed you with my refusal." She did not find any joy in upsetting Mrs. Weasley, whom she so dearly loved.

Mrs. Weasley stopped her here. "It is not me or Mr. Weasley you must think about, Hermione. It is your future. I can sense that you find our conversations around marriage laughable and silly. Too pragmatic, perhaps. But you worry me, child. Yes, I had hoped you would find Mr. Longbottom agreeable enough to see yourself as his wife, for it would mean a comfortable life for you. The situation was not ideal, but they hardly ever are – the truth is: we make our own happiness, child, where we must."

Mrs. Weasley's face was filled with genuine concern, a plead for Hermione to understand her. Hermione did, indeed, understand Mrs. Weasley's worries. Dear Mrs. Weasley worried that Hermione's idealism in regards to marriage and love would lead her to a life filled with loneliness and poverty, that her aversion to acting ignorant and passive in the face of foul albeit wealthy men would scare off suitors at a time her marriageable window was growing smaller and smaller. These thoughts were not lost on Hermione by any means. On the contrary – she found it difficult not to think of, these days, even in situations that had nothing to do with it. With the arrival of such characters such as Mr. Zabini, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott and Mr. Longbottom – even if the word "marriage" had not been uttered anywhere in her proximity, she swore that she could sense it in somebody's thoughts as if it were a new sense she had recently discovered.

For a second, having to stand before the purity of Mrs. Weasley's sincerity and desperation, Hermione almost wondered if she had made a mistake in refusing Mr. Longbottom. Did she not owe to the Weasleys whatever semblance of comfort and reassurance she could give after all that they had done for her? Was she indulging her own selfishness and pride in holding out for something more passionate than her platonic friendliness towards Mr. Longbottom? Did she even deserve the luxury of refusing a safe future?

All of this Hermione contemplated, and they all roiled in her conscience like a potion that had been poorly mixed. She thought of Mr. Nott. Could she be as presumptuous as to hope that he would ever consider marrying her?

"Mrs. Weasley, I do not mean to cause you any displeasure from my decisions," Hermione said, quietly. "Please believe me that I do all things with great deliberation and thought. Mr. Longbottom is a good man, but I would not have made him happy, and I am not convinced he would have done the same for me, either."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, accepting this. She took Hermione's hands in hers, gripping them firmly. "I understand. But know this, dear child: nothing destroys spirit like poverty."

The moment was broken, however, as they suddenly heard a voice. They looked towards the house to see Lavender Brown running towards them, her hand holding her hat to her head so that it wouldn't spring away in her haste.

"Mrs. Weasley! Hermione! Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Why, it's only just happened!" Lavender's cheeks were flushed from her running and she was out of breath. "It's the news all over town! Mr. Longbottom has just proposed to _Loony Lovegood_! You know, the odd one with the strange newspapers?" Lavender trilled, clapping her hands. "And she's accepted him! What a match! One could not find a more eccentric couple even if they tried, I daresay! Heavens, imagine the offspring those two would have! I'd be surprised if they didn't come out moonfaced and clammy from the womb!"

Lavender had doubled over from laughter, her giggles filling the air. Mrs. Weasley let go of Hermione's hands, wiping them back on her apron.

"I should write to Mr. Sculthorpe immediately to send my congratulations," said Mrs. Weasley, avoiding her eyes, and she went back towards the Burrow. Hermione stared after her, frowning.

"What's the matter with her?" Lavender asked, once she had laughed all she could.

"She was hoping that I would marry Mr. Longbottom instead and secure my future," Hermione muttered.

"Well that's silly," Lavender scoffed. "What would Mr. Longbottom ever want with _you_?"

"Thank you, Lavender," Hermione sighed sarcastically, as she began to walk back to the Burrow.

Lavender called out to her. "What did I say now?"

* * *

Please review! As fond as I am of Mr. Collin's awkward AF (and awfully condescending!) proposal in P&P, again, I just couldn't do that to Neville, so I hope giving you one less cringe for today was okay!


	10. Invitation to Rosings Park

A/N: Alas! I think I've kept you guys in enough suspense about who Lady Catherine is in this fic. I don't think you'll be too surprised…. Also, thanks for reading and reviewing as always! I've been enjoying hearing your reactions and thoughts. Keep it up!

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Chapter Ten

The news of Mr. Longbottom's engagement to Miss Lovegood spread through the town quickly – almost as quickly as they were to be married. Due to some superstition of Miss Lovegood's father, they only had a fortnight to be married, and the bride was to wear canary yellow. Thankfully, both the bride and groom were not known to be particularly demanding, except for a small note on the bottom of the invitation officially disinviting any and all Nargles from the upcoming wedding.

Hermione was elated for both Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood, as they made such an unexpected albeit lovely pairing in her eyes. Both a bit on the eccentric side, she had seen the excitement and easiness in their conversations back when she had seen them interact at the ball, but never had she dreamed they would be married. Life could indeed be full of pleasant surprises.

It was only a few days after the official announcement of the engagement that Hermione found Miss Lovegood waiting for her outside the shop after she had finished her lessons with the children.

"Miss Lovegood," Hermione said. "How splendid to see you. I heard about your engagement to Mr. Longbottom. I wish the both of you every congratulations. I think you two will be very happy together."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Miss Lovegood said, in her typical dreamy affect. "That is the very reason I have come to see you."

Hermione was surprised. "Is that so? Is everything all right?"

"Everything is perfect. But I am concerned. Neville has divulged to me that he proposed to you first, and that you were kind and merciful in your rejection. You told him that you could not marry him because you did not love him."

Hermione could not help but wince at this. "Miss Lovegood—"

"Which is why I am here to thank you. It is very apparent to me that you are our matchmaker. Why, I might have never met him if you hadn't told me to visit the herbologist when I first came into Moony's. I wanted to speak to you right away after the official announcement had been made to make sure that my engagement to him has not offended you. You see, you are my only friend here - aside from my future husband – and you are the last person I wish to drive away."

It took Hermione a moment to realize that Miss Lovegood was not, in fact, cross with her. What a rare, surreal moment to have someone thanking you for not loving a man enough to reject his hand in marriage.

"Miss Granger? Please tell me we are still friends."

"Of course," she reassured her, recovering from her shock. "I could never be cross with you. It is perfectly evident to me that you and Mr. Longbottom are kindred souls."

Miss Lovegood seemed relieved at this. "This is very good news. Neville will also be glad to hear. He has only the utmost respect for you. I will see you at the wedding, will I not?"

"I shall not miss it for the world," Hermione told her.

"And please," she smiled, "since we have now established we are good friends, you must call me Luna."

ooo

The wedding was a modest yet jubilant affair. Nearly the entire magical population of Ottery St Catchpole seemed to be in attendance, showering the new couple with well wishes. It was at the reception that it was announced that the newlyweds would be leaving their province just a few days after their union, as Mr. Sculthorpe was delighted to tell everyone that his nephew had landed the job of building and tending to the greenhouse belonging to none other than the most esteemed Lady of Rosings Park – Lady Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione had only heard of Lady Bellatrix in passing a few times, but this announcement elicited a chorus of gasps from the audience, which made her feel as if perhaps she should have paid better attention to the town gossip.

Even Lavender could not contain her envy. "I heard they are to live in a little cottage on Rosings Park, right next to Lady Lestrange's manor," she said to Hermione. "How lucky Miss Lovegood is! I wonder if Lady Bellatrix will invite her over for tea every day. I have only passed by Rosings Park once, you know. The manor was not open to visitors, but it is breathtaking even from the outside grounds. Perhaps Miss Lovegood will let me visit once she is all settled."

Lavender scurried off in Luna's direction, her eyes bright from the allure of possibly setting foot within Rosings Park. Hermione only laughed to herself, and while doing so, managed to catch Mrs. Weasley's eye for a brief moment before Mrs. Weasley quickly looked away. Hermione's amusement faded as she remembered that Mrs. Weasley had not spoken even ten words to her since finding out about Mr. Longbottom's engagement to Miss Lovegood after her rejection of him at the Burrow.

Hermione separated from the rest of the party and found Ron, sitting down beside him in front of Mr. Sculthorpe's greenhouse. In the near distance she spotted Harry talking to Miss Cho Chang, a lovely raven-haired girl that he had been considering courting for ages now.

"I fear your mum is still cross with me for turning down Mr. Longbottom," Hermione sighed.

Ron chuckled. "Disappointment is scarcely fatal. She'll recover soon enough, don't you worry."

"I hope so. Do you happen to share the same thoughts as your mother?"

"In regards to what?"

"My stubborn habit of remaining single despite the good intentions and hard work of those who wish to bless me with matrimonial bliss."

"Heavens. And here I thought remaining single was always your intention."

"Certainly, but I'd like to think I've mastered the art of subtlety along with it."

Ron laughed heartily. "Hermione, you are the most unsubtle person I know. It's not your fault. In fact, it almost even adds to your charm – that is, when you aren't verbally castrating some poor unfortunate fellow."

"If I were a true lady, I'd take offense to that," Hermione remarked dryly. "But as it is, I find myself quite unconcerned by your opinion of me," she teased.

The festivities lasted well into the night, and Hermione and the Weasleys did not get home until well after midnight. Hermione slept through the morning and awoke to an owl on her dresser from Ginny.

 _Dearest Hermione,_

 _I am very sorry I could not attend last night. I had every intention of getting there by Floo, but all of the little ones got very abruptly sick and I found it not in my heart to leave Aunt Daphyne and Uncle Bilius alone. Their help has quit just a few days ago to run off with her fiancé to Scotland, which has prompted them to tell me regularly how grateful they are that I have come._

 _You must tell me in great detail how the wedding was. I will admit to some surprise when you wrote to me of their engagement, but now that I think of it, I think they make quite a match. I think it is sweet that Miss Lovegood went to find you at Moony's. It is apparent she values your friendship very much._

 _Now I have come to the part I dread writing. I know what it is you long to hear – if Mr. Zabini has made an appearance. Not quite. The streets of London are diverting and busy – sometimes I think that I see him out of the corner of my eye, but it is always somebody else with just a faint similarity. Aunt Daphyne has arranged for me to sightsee around London with an acquaintance of hers in hopes that my being seen out and about will encourage the news of my arrival to circulate. A week ago I had written to Miss Parkinson to tell her that I have arrived in London, but have yet to receive a response. I wonder if perhaps the owl never made it to her. Nevertheless, in a few days I intend to call on her on Grosvenor Street, and see if she will receive me._

 _Write to me quickly! How I miss our conversations. Aunt Daphyne and Uncle Bilius are a pleasure to be around, but they lack the quickness of your wit and your fondness for a good laugh._

 _Ginny_

ooo

Hermione filled her days with chores, books, lessons at Moony's, and writing owls to Ginny. Sometimes when she saw an owl waiting for her she would have a hopeful thought that it might be from Mr. Nott to tell her that he had returned, but she quickly grew a habit of dismissing such hopes. True, her days were a great deal less exciting without Ginny and Mr. Nott, but it did not suit her to dwell on wishful thoughts.

It was if the universe sensed her boredom, however, as one day an owl did come for her. Not from Ginny, nor from Mr. Nott – but from a Mrs. Luna Longbottom of Rosings Park.

It was an invitation for Hermione to come visit the new couple at Rosings and stay for a week or two. Luna longed for some companionship as Mr. Longbottom was now devoting most of his time to building Lady Bellatrix's greenhouse. Luna made sure to mention that her new husband had given his blessing to invite her, and that he'd even encouraged it, for he thought some female companionship would be good for her while she adjusted to a new place.

Hermione wrote back to thank her for her offer, and that she would happy to visit at their convenience. Luna wrote back quickly, telling her that she was free to come as soon as she was able, for they had just set up their cottage to the Floo network.

 _I shall get my affairs in order and inform the Weasleys. Please expect me tomorrow afternoon_ , Hermione sent back.

Needless to say, Lavender was not too pleased about Hermione getting the invitation to visit Rosings Park before her, but that did not mean she had nothing to say.

"Whatever you do, you mustn't offend Lady Bellatrix," Lavender explained to her, as Hermione tried to decide which books to take with her. "No one has ever crossed Lady Bellatrix and lived to tell the tale."

Hermione looked up at her. "You mean she's killed people?"

"Not killed – worse. _Blacklisted_. Ostracized from society, like squibs, or lepers. I have heard that once you have been deemed unworthy by Lady Bellatrix, people treat you as if you stop existing. They won't even look you in the eye. How positively dreadful."

Hermione found the idea laughable, but tried her best to regard it seriously, for Lavender's sake. "I doubt I'll be spending much time with Lady Bellatrix. I'm mostly going to be there to keep Luna company. Mr. Longbottom's been devoting long hours to building that greenhouse for her. Apparently Lady Bellatrix has quite a fickle mind. As soon as he's built it one way, she'll ask for it another."

Lavender hummed in agreement. "Good taste is indeed difficult to satisfy."

The Weasleys said goodbye to Hermione, with even Mrs. Weasley sparing a few words to wish her a good trip. Hermione Floo'd to the Longbottoms' cottage on Rosings Park, arriving quite clumsily and in a cloud of thick dust.

"Hermione!" Luna greeted warmly. She grabbed Hermione as she stepped out of the fireplace, before drawing her wand. " _Scourgify_."

Hermione's clothes were back to being soot-free. She leaned in for a tight embrace. "How good to see you, Luna. I cannot thank you enough for inviting me. Is Mr. Longbottom around?"

"He's out working on the greenhouse. Lady Bellatrix has asked I refrain from disturbing him while he works, but I think we can make an exception just this once," she beamed.

They stepped out of the cottage that they now had christened as their marriage home and stepped onto the vast property called Rosings Park. Hermione could now understand Lavender's obsession with the estate – it was indeed impressive. Sprawling acres of lush green grass, leading up to a large, majestic manor that could easily house forty people. And here Hermione had thought she would never again be in the presence of a larger place than Netherfield Park. It seemed the universe was quite keen on proving her wrong these days.

"It's quite beautiful," Luna said, catching Hermione's astonished look. There was a sad gleam in her eye. "But I daresay it can be quite lonely, too."

They walked until they saw a half-made structure partly hidden by some trees. Mr. Longbottom was floating some large wooden pillars to create an angle, rolls of parchment spread out in front of him on a wooden table. It took a few minutes of calling his name to break his focus.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed, once he finally saw them. "How splendid that you are here. Has Luna shown you around?"

"She has just begun, but I am already rather impressed. Pray, how is the greenhouse coming along?"

"Good," he said with a wide smile, although his voice was a bit strained. "It's coming along splendidly. A few mishaps along the way, but I think I'm on the right path. I can feel it. Anyway, I should be off back to work. I'd like to have some progress to show Lady Bellatrix. On that topic, before I forget – Hermione, Lady Bellatrix Lestrange has heard of your arrival, and would like for all of us to join her for dinner tomorrow night."

"All of us?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes. Lady Bellatrix likes to acquaint herself with all who steps foot within Rosings Park." He forced on an even larger grin. "Now, I shall see you ladies at the cottage for supper. Try not to cause too much trouble while I'm out, will you?"

Hermione walked back with Luna to the cottage, talking in the view and the scenery. It was certainly quiet and tranquil, two things Hermione enjoyed very much. "Are you well acquainted with Lady Bellatrix?"

"We've had a few dinners with her since settling in," Luna replied. "Neville respects her most enthusiastically, but I can sense that he fears her, too. She has treated us well, but she is not what I would call the warmest presence. However, I shall say no more and leave you to form your own opinion of her after the dinner."

Luna led Hermione on a tour of the cottage, which didn't take very long, as it was a fairly modest cottage in contrast to its neighbor – although it was not without its charms. Most of its furnishings were a great deal newer than those at the Burrow, and its large windows allowed for plenty of light to cascade in. _Perfect for reading_ , Hermione thought with a tinge of envy.

She helped Luna prepare dinner while Luna shared her ideas for future issues of The Quibbler. She and her father had continued to work on it, sharing ideas for stories mostly through owl. Mr. Longbottom had even promised to build her a writing nook just as soon as he was finished with the greenhouse, which appeared to excite Luna a great deal.

When Mr. Longbottom returned, the three of them ate supper together and traded stories from back home and from Rosings Park. Mr. Longbottom shared the reasons Lady Bellatrix gave for each of the previous two greenhouses he had built her. _Too wide_ , he recounted. _Too tall. Too ordinary._

Hermione ended the night by writing a letter to Ginny. It was a short letter, since she was surprised to discover just how exhausted she was. She promised to send a longer letter with more details about her visit to Rosings.

 _I hope you are finding enough distraction there in London_ , _my dearest friend,_ Hermione wrote. _Or, in the very least, that distraction finds its way quickly over to you._

ooo

The next day, Hermione was able to explore a little bit more of Rosings Park with Luna before having to get ready for their supper with Lady Bellatrix. Luna helped her pick out her best dress and lent her some of her own ribbon before they joined a pacing Mr. Longbottom in the sitting room and exited the cottage towards Lady Bellatrix's manor.

Lady Bellatrix was indeed a hard woman to forget. She was not very tall, but her dark, judging eyes and stern, discerning expressions exaggerated her presence a great deal. Hermione and the Longbottoms had been led into the sitting room, where they greeted a seated and awaiting Lady Bellatrix, surrounded by an impressive array of expensive antiques and large, elegant paintings.

"So you are Hermione Granger," remarked Lady Bellatrix, not attempting to mask her comprehensive visual assessment of her. Hermione wondered if this was simply an accompanying symptom of obscene wealth – an unflinching attitude towards making others uncomfortable.

"I am, your Ladyship," Hermione replied.

"This is Delphini, my daughter." Lady Bellatrix gestured to the very pale, dark-haired young woman seated next to her, who appeared to be somewhere around Hermione's age. Hermione curtsied to her in greeting.

"It was very kind of you to invite us to come dine with you," Luna said.

"But of course, Mrs. Lovegood. You needn't act so shocked. You do live on my estate. Mr. Longbottom, how is it going with the greenhouse?"

"Very well, your Ladyship. I hope to have the base built in two more days. I have every confidence that it will live up to your vision," he said, albeit nervously. "This time."

"I should hope so. I intend for the greenhouse to remain a permanent fixture at Rosings for future generations. Consider it your legacy, Mr. Longbottom. I needn't remind you there are dozens of other herbologists in Wizarding Britain who would have gone to extreme lengths just to secure my business."

"Of course, Lady Bellatrix. It is an honor."

Hermione observed Lady Bellatrix. She had not smiled once, but mastered expressions of scrutiny, which only added to her skill in intimidation. However, Hermione's attention was suddenly diverted from the conversation by the sound of the door opening. She looked at the room's newest arrival in utmost astonishment.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, nearly in a stammer. She felt the odd sensation of her pulse beginning to race, as she had a sudden flash of dancing with him back at Netherfield Hall. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Malfoy stepped into the room and bowed to her without once averting his eyes from her own. "Miss Granger," he said deeply, in typical his highborn drawl. "I am a guest here at Rosings."

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Please review!


	11. A Familiar Face

A/N: Rad to see overall positive reactions to Bellatrix as Lady Catherine! I had to put in a rando in this chapter (and next) to take Colonel Fitzwilliam's place, but he doesn't really play a _giant_ role, so there's that.

I got asked if I plan to put anything about Tom Riddle in this, and my initial reaction to that was no, simply because my main intention was to follow the P&P plot and focus on the "romance." But I am totally open to it, so if inspiration strikes, I'd be happy to put it in – although _probably_ not as a major plotline. Another question was if I could change things up since everybody already knows what happens in P &P. I don't feel inclined to do that because again, my intention of writing this was to follow the P&P plotline, but there _is_ a slight-ish change at the end that I've already written.

Now that that's done, happy reading!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Their familiarity with each other was enough to pique Lady Bellatrix's interest, as she rose to her feet to address this. "You know my nephew?"

"Yes, your Ladyship," Hermione said, now looking at Mr. Malfoy with furrowed brows, attempting to make out the odds that she would see him here, at Rosings. "I happened to meet your nephew in Devonshire."

It was only then that Hermione noticed another figure behind Mr. Malfoy. He was a dark-haired gentleman, tall and slender. He courteously bowed to Hermione. "Marcus Flint, how do you do, ma'am."

Afterwards they were shortly escorted to the dining room, but not before Hermione had been able to tease out the details of Mr. Malfoy's unexpected presence at Rosings, most of which was derived from direct inquiry. Lady Bellatrix of the lavish Rosings Park was apparently Mr. Malfoy's aunt, and Mr. Flint was an acquaintance and business partner of Mr. Malfoy's. Mr. Malfoy was staying for a few days at Rosings to visit, and Mr. Flint was in town to peruse available nearby properties to acquire, which Mr. Malfoy was assisting him with. The two gentlemen had known each other since their boyhood days at Hogwarts. Indeed, Hermione was currently discovering Hogwarts to be the place such stalwart friendships were to be forged – the ability to dispense of such considerable wealth being a reliable commonality of which to nurture such relations.

Still, Hermione found herself intrigued with Mr. Malfoy's sudden appearance for reasons she could hardly discern. She sensed a change in him. She watched his hands occasionally – and past anyone else's notice – clench and release behind his back. Then there was the way he looked at her. Gone was the dismissive, skimming manner of his gaze from their first few encounters; she began to wonder if this was not a more recent development than she realized.

At the table the seating was arranged such as that Mr. Malfoy would be occupying the seat next to her, where he struck up conversation with her.

"I trust the Weasleys are faring well, Miss Granger," he remarked, quite cordially.

Hermione tried her best not to appear so surprised at his pleasant tone. She quickly remembered, however, that they were in the presence of his aunt and old school acquaintance, which would nudge any respectable man to be on their best behavior.

"They are, thank you." She cleared her throat, watching as everyone else took their seats. "Ginny – the youngest of the Weasleys, if you remember - is in London. Perhaps you or Mr. Zabini happened to see her there?"

"I'm afraid not. We've quite had a few business matters to settle since we got back, which have precluded –"

"Miss Granger," came the authoritative voice of Lady Bellatrix, causing Mr. Malfoy to fall silent. Both their gazes were immediately directed towards the head of the table. "Mr. Longbottom tells me that you teach lessons to children."

"Yes, your Ladyship. For several months now."

"And what is the extent of your magical education?"

Hermione could feel all eyes on her. She as quickly realizing what a horrid thing it was to be the subject of Lady Bellatrix's attention. "I… am mostly self-taught, Ma'am."

Lady Bellatrix scoffed. "Self-taught? You mean to tell me you did not receive any formal magical education? Not even a tutor?"

Hermione smiled to herself. "I attended school when I was younger, but it had very little to do with magic."

Lady Bellatrix's eyes narrowed at her, her comprehension quick. She understood her perfectly. "My, what a very veiled way to reveal your Muggle birth, Miss Granger. The shop owners must be very desperate, if they could not manage to find someone of a more sophisticated education."

"I would be delighted if someone else of such experience would come to teach the children, but as it is, Ottery St Catchpole is perhaps too small to attract them, and not very many seem to pass through. However, if the children mind having a teacher from such a humble background, they are very good at keeping their opinions to themselves, for they have yet to pelt me with rotten turnips to run me out of a lesson," she laughed. There were a few chuckles from around the table – all except for Lady Bellatrix and Mr. Malfoy.

"You speak very confidently for someone of such disadvantage," Lady Bellatrix remarked.

"I enjoy conversation, your Ladyship. I find ample opportunity to practice."

"Yes, I assume this is because there is little other business for you to attend to," she pointedly murmured. Her Ladyship then snapped her fingers, after which their supper immediately appeared in front of them. It was a grand spread, with delectable, steaming dishes running down the length of the table. Hermione almost found it all too alluring, had her appetite not been lost from her interrogation. Still, she served herself and tried to eat, noting with relief as Lady Bellatrix moved her aggressive ways of conversation towards the others at the table.

After supper they were led back into the drawing room for tea and post-dinner beverages for the men. Hermione walked along the walls of the large room, looking at all of the antiques. One in particular interested her very much. Lady Bellatrix had an old, framed picture of the Hogwarts founders – all except one. There was an empty space between Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw where she surmised Salazar Slytherin had been, once upon a time. They were smiling faintly with the famous castle in the backdrop.

"Miss Granger, come play the pianoforte for us."

Hermione turned to see a seated Lady Bellatrix looking expectantly at her.

"I would, Lady Bellatrix, but I'm afraid I'm not very good—"

"Music is one of my only avenues of delight, and I find that music after such a hearty supper helps one settle down. You may even play a Muggle composition if you are so inclined. There is such fine music from both realms, and I care not to separate the two too vigorously. After all, Beethoven was a Squib, and he was still able to create quite remarkable pieces after he ran off into the Muggle world."

"Ma'am, it is not in my character to avoid a public display of talent – however, in this case, I fear I am simply protecting you and present company—"

"Then perhaps you'd better leave it for us to judge," she said, definitively, as everyone else remained silent.

It was apparent to Hermione that this was not an argument she had a hope of winning. She slowly walked over to the pianoforte in the corner of the room and seated herself, as the others in the room began to converse. The last time her hands had even touched a pianoforte was a month ago, and that had been during a duet with Ginny that they most hilariously played very ill. Indeed, Hermione had always enjoyed music, and admired those with such talents, but never found herself particularly devoted to practicing, as there was always so much to do around the Burrow and at Moony's. She had never been made to regret such disinterest until this very moment.

Hermione began to play a piece that her mother had taught her. It was a simple piece but had a lively melody and was one of the only pieces Hermione had memorized quite well. However, having not practiced it for many months, she winced when her fingers happened to hit a sour note. She was relieved to discover that her mistakes seemed to go unnoticed in the background as the conversations in the room continued without interruption or pause.

"Malfoy, how is Daphne getting along? She played so beautifully during her recital two summers ago," said Lady Bellatrix.

"She still plays beautifully."

"Such talent should be continued to be nurtured. I trust she practices, even at school?"

"Yes, I had arranged with her Head of House for her to have access to one of the school's pianoforte for regular practice."

"Very well. No true proficiency can be obtained without diligent practice. I have relayed this to Mrs. Longbottom. Though your cottage is without an instrument, you are welcome to the pianoforte in basement. That way you shan't be a disruption to the rest of the house."

"Thank you, Lady Bellatrix," said Luna.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed as Mr. Malfoy separated himself from the main conversation and came towards her and the pianoforte.

"I suspect you mean to intimidate me by lingering in such close proximity," Hermione said to him, still keeping her focus on the pianoforte keys. "But I refuse to be unsettled, even if Miss Greengrass does play like an angel."

She heard a slight smile in his voice. "I am too well-acquainted with you, Miss Granger, to ever believe that I could intimidate you."

Hermione's finger slipped and hit the wrong key. She winced.

Another presence joined them, genially clapping Mr. Malfoy on the shoulder. "Tell me, Miss Granger – what was my old acquaintance like in Devonshire?" Mr. Flint asked.

Hermione chuckled lowly to herself. "Mr. Flint, I should hope you dare not ask if you are not prepared to hear the entire, unadorned truth. I warn you now – it will not be pleasant."

Mr. Flint laughed. "Please, go on. My intrigue cannot be kept in such suspense."

"Very well. Only at your insistence do I relay such dreadful news." Hermione paused playing for a minute to meet Mr. Flint's eyes. She noticed, however, that Mr. Malfoy's gaze was very focused on her. "The first time I saw him was at a ball at Netherfield Hall – one of the two hosted by him and his friend, Mr. Zabini. He did not oblige a dance with anybody aside from Miss Parkinson, even though there were not enough gentlemen for the women, and there was more than one handsome lady standing without a partner."

"Is this true, Malfoy?" Mr. Flint said, amused. He turned back to Hermione with a grin. "Unfortunately this does not shock me very much. Mr. Malfoy is quite shy, and very selective in his audience," the man remarked, before he was summoned away by Lady Bellatrix. This left Hermione and Mr. Malfoy alone at the pianoforte, and she met eyes with him before continuing her piece.

"Is it a habit of yours to take such notice of unfamiliar gentlemen at balls?" asked Mr. Malfoy.

Hermione laughed. "Only the select few who warrant such observation."

"And pray – what criteria is involved in meriting such critical observation?"

"I'm afraid the list is not very long. It's simply unusual behavior, Mr. Malfoy. A telltale discomfort or outward disinclination to familiarize with one's surroundings." Here, knowing Lady Bellatrix and others were within earshot, she did not take the liberty to call out his snobbery directly. After what she had experienced at supper, Hermione was in no mood to tempt fate.

"I'm afraid I do not have the talent required for such indiscriminate friendliness," Mr. Malfoy told her, in lower tones, as if he meant only for her to hear. Hermione's fingers slipped yet again and hit a bad key. "It is immensely difficult for me to converse with people I have never met before."

Hermione looked up and met his eyes. He was very close, she realized, and his hand was on top of the pianoforte, dangerously close to where her own hands were. His handsome features wore an expression of sincerity, and his quiet tenor had hinted to her a kind of unprecedented vulnerability. No, they had both been wrong. Mr. Malfoy could indeed unsettle her very much.

"That does sound very grave, indeed," she said to him. "But far from incurable. Perhaps you ought to take your aunt's advice and simply practice."

She shifted her attention back to the pianoforte, unable to account for the quickening in her pulse. How utterly strange to have found herself in an intimate moment with Mr. Malfoy in an otherwise occupied room, whilst butchering a beloved musical piece.

He lingered only for a moment more before he joined the others back at the center of the room, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

ooo

Hermione spent the next morning with Luna and Mr. Longbottom before they left for town to purchase more supplies for the greenhouse. They happily extended an invitation for her to join them, but Hermione did not want to wear out her welcome with the new couple, and the amount of light coming into the cottage presented optimal conditions for reading by their large windows.

She was a few hours into her reading when she received an owl from Ginny.

 _Dearest Hermione,_

 _I am very glad to hear that the cottage is to your liking and that Luna and Mr. Longbottom have settled comfortably into married life._

 _Concerning the subject of Lady Bellatrix - you would be hard pressed to travel anywhere in the country where Lady Bellatrix's name and reputation is not known. She is a descendant of not only a very wealthy but very important wizarding family. It is even rumored that she is of distant relation to Salazar Slytherin, though none have been able to confirm this officially. You must tell me how the dinner goes. Only a select few have had a chance to meet Lady Bellatrix as she rarely ventures outside of Rosings Park._

 _I paid a visit to Miss Parkinson on Grosvenor Street a few days ago. She appeared surprised to see me, and as I suspected, confirmed that she had never received my owl telling her that I had arrived in London and wished to see her. I briefly inquired about Mr. Zabini, but she informed me that she has rarely seen him, for he has been very busy since they returned to London. Unfortunately I could not visit with her long as she claimed a very urgent matter had come up with her family and she had to leave shortly. I asked if I could visit her again before I left London, and she said that I should owl her, but that it would be unlikely, as her coming weeks would be very busy as she would be leaving for France._

 _That is all the news I have for today._

 _Hope to hear from you soon,_

 _Ginny._

Oh, how Hermione felt for Ginny. Though she did not reveal so in her letter, she could only imagine the disappointment she felt after her visit with Miss Parkinson. Hermione also refused to believe that Miss Parkinson's manners were as cordial as Ginny let on, as she had spent enough time in the woman's presence to know that any sort of perceived cordiality experienced from her came with its own sting.

She felt frustrated with Mr. Zabini. Could Ginny have been right? Could it be as simple as that they had read too much into his friendly demeanor and wrongly assumed it to be deep, romantic feelings?

Hermione grabbed some parchment, her quill and ink bottle, promptly beginning her reply. She had only written the first two words of her greeting before she was interrupted by the sound of the cottage's front door opening and closing, and suddenly Mr. Malfoy had appeared before her.

She blinked at him, unsure for one moment if she was hallucinating. "Mr. Malfoy. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom have gone to town to purchase more supplies for the greenhouse. Have they forgotten they were to expect you?"

"No," he said, and Hermione was struck by how odd he was behaving. It was not his abruptness, for there seemed to always be a faint hint of that in all of his interactions, but something else entirely - an urgency in the way his eyes flickered over her. "No, they were not expecting me."

"I was just about to write a letter to Ginny. Please, do be seated. Should I make us some tea?"

"No," he said, "no thank you." He looked around. "I had not seen the cottage after its completion. My aunt was quite involved in its construction."

Despite herself, Hermione found herself rather amused by the randomness of his chosen topic of conversation. "I would believe so. She is very involved in the construction of the greenhouse from what I have heard, so one can only assume she was twice as involved with her manor's neighboring cottage. It is very charming."

"Indeed." He hesitated for a moment, as if stopping himself from saying something else. "I trust its tenants are pleased with it."

"Very much so. One would not find two people more inclined to be pleased with such accommodations. I, myself, am quite envious. Its large windows allow for much natural light perfect for reading."

"Yes," he agreed, softly. His eyes, again, did not shift from hers. "For reading."

Hermione had always observed Mr. Malfoy's eyes to be a stormy gray color – which suited him, she thought to herself, as gray was such a miserable, cold color, devoid of joy. But here in the open, bright light, his eyes had changed to a lighter gray, one that was speckled with faint hues of blue. Indeed, he appeared rather luminous, dressed in a deep cerulean overcoat, his white-blond hair styled albeit faintly tousled from activity. In fact, Hermione might even admit the sight of him was breathtaking, had she the nerve to be honest with herself. But alas, she remembered his unforgivable slight against Mr. Nott, and righted herself immediately.

"If it is the cottage you are interested in, I would happily give you a tour. I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom wouldn't mind."

"No," he said again, shaking his head. Hermione had never heard a man say 'No' so many times in one conversation. "I apologize – I am not here for the cottage, although I am pleased it is to Mr. and Mrs. Longbottoms' liking."

"Then pray – and forgive my confusion, Mr. Malfoy – what is the purpose of this visit?" she asked.

She watched his expression as he comprehended her question, a strange look flashing over his eyes. He pressed his lips together and then opened them again, as if to speak, before closing them again.

Suddenly, the door opened. Mr. Malfoy bowed to her and said goodbye, and he was gone as quickly as he had come. Hermione stared after him – as was becoming a habit, anytime Mr. Malfoy was involved - watching him with great bewilderment through the windows as he walked back to his aunt's manor with quick, determined strides.

Luna and Mr. Longbottom joined her at the window.

"Hermione," Luna said, her dreamy voice inflected with similar bafflement, "what in Merlin's name have you done to poor Mr. Malfoy?"

"He came out of here so quickly I thought the cottage was on fire," Mr. Longbottom said. "I hardly had a chance to even say hello."

"I hardly know," Hermione answered, still watching his figure was it grew smaller in the distance. "What can account for such odd behavior from a man?"

Here Luna and Mr. Longbottom shared a knowing smile.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Luna only laughed, slipping her arm through hers. "Come, Hermione. I've picked up a few things from town I think you'll enjoy."


	12. The Gentleman in the Garden

A/N: For those of you familiar with P&P, we have arrived at THE chapter! Go on. Screaming is permitted.

* * *

Chapter 12

Hermione strolled through the lush grounds of Rosings Park with a book held to her side. Her visit with the Longbottoms was coming to an end, and although she found herself struck at odd moments of missing the creaking walls of the Burrow, she was determined to savor her last day, despite the ominous darkening of the sky above her. She'd already done much exploring earlier in the morning, and now she was looking for a tree to sit under and read for a few hours, or at least until the downpour started.

"Miss Granger!"

She looked up to find Mr. Flint across the way from her, walking in her direction. She curtsied to him in greeting when he reached her, and he bowed back.

"How glad I am to have found you. I'm afraid I've gotten a bit lost," he explained quite sheepishly. "Lady Bellatrix had informed me of a greenhouse that was being built on her grounds by Mr. Longbottom, but I cannot seem to find it."

"But of course. I can take you there. It's a bit hidden for now, while it is being built, and so it is easy to miss."

"Splendid. Now I feel only half as foolish," Mr. Flint grinned, as they began to walk in the direction of the greenhouse. "How long have you been a guest here of the Longbottoms?"

"About four days now. They've been very generous to me by allowing me to stay so long," she said. "It has been a most pleasant change of scenery from Ottery St Catchpole. And you, sir? How long are you to be visiting Rosings?"

"Not too much longer, I imagine. Mr. Malfoy has done me a great favor by assisting me in procuring a new estate. Now that has been completed, I am at his disposal."

Hermione smiled dryly to herself. "Yes, it seems Mr. Malfoy has no shortage of friends at his disposal. It is a wonder he has not married yet to secure himself a lasting convenience in precisely that manner."

Mr. Flint only smiled good-naturedly. "Not that there hasn't been ample effort. Many ladies of our acquaintance talk enviously of someday being Mr. Malfoy's wife. Though I believe there were some rumors long ago that it was the wish of his aunt for him to marry Delphini."

"Delphini?" Hermione repeated, surprised. She had been the pale, sickly creature at Rosings who had barely spoken two words the entire night. Indeed, Hermione had almost thought her asleep for the entirety of it until she noticed how deeply her eyes focused on the carpet underneath her feet.

Mr. Flint laughed, as if he could sense Hermione's thoughts. "But who is to know the nature of rumors, or from whence they originate. Regardless, whoever can capture Malfoy's affection and bewitch him into matrimony would be a most fortunate young woman. A worthy one, too. Malfoy is intelligent and incredibly discerning. He graduated at the top of our class at Hogwarts and was ranked first choice for the Auror program. The gentleman is not so easily led."

"Is that so?" Hermione mused aloud, amused at the concept. "Highly sought after, intelligent, discerning… and yet can never seem to find enough joy in his being to indulge us all with one small smile. One would surmise that with such a charmed life he might find something to smile about."

Mr. Flint laughed. "Merlin, I cannot refute that. It is true - Malfoy does not smile so easily. But no, it is his loyalty that is most coveted. From what I heard on my way here, Malfoy recently came to the rescue of one of his dearest and oldest friends from Hogwarts, Blaise Zabini."

Hermione nearly stopped in her step at this, but did not want to let on that she was familiar with Mr. Zabini, lest Mr. Flint change his mind and retreat from the conversation. A sudden tightness appeared in her throat. She strained to keep her voice unchanged. "Rescue? How so?"

"I believe he saved him from an improper marriage."

The greenhouse came into view as they passed the trees. There was a brief moment of silence between her and Mr. Flint as Hermione attempted to comprehend this, overwhelmed by her anger at the discovery.

"Did he give his reasons for interfering in his friend's most personal affairs?"

"There were some strong objections to the lady that were apparently impossible to overlook," Mr. Flint replied. "Ah, there it is! Mr. Longbottom!"

Hermione stayed behind in a daze as he walked on to the greenhouse to greet Mr. Longbottom. Hermione was so very suddenly consumed by righteous indignation, and half considered stomping over to Rosings and confronting Mr. Malfoy with the end of her wand pointed at his face. The sheer nerve of the man, thinking it his personal duty to separate Mr. Zabini and Ginny, all due to his perverse social standards! Who died and made him Merlin?

Indeed, she never wanted to see Mr. Malfoy's face again. If she did – if the universe was determined to tempt her so – she might very well be unable to stop herself from hexing him right to oblivion.

ooo

Hermione stayed outdoors and did not return to the cottage, even when it began to rain. She found some shelter in a sculpture garden on the outskirts of Rosings, and clutched her book to her chest as she watched the downpour from the sky above her, her mind still on her conversation with Mr. Flint from earlier in the day. She had not wanted to return to the cottage until she was convinced she could act like her usual self around Luna and Mr. Longbottom, as her last wish was to alarm them.

She thought about telling Ginny. How would she react? With disbelief, naturally – for Ginny was not cynical when it came to the nature of people, even in the midst of her disappointed hopes, and even in the face of men such as Mr. Malfoy who lacked a conscience. It did not give Hermione pleasure to reveal to her dearest friend the inherent cruelty of the general population. In fact, it filled her with great grief and anxiety.

The thick veil of Hermione's innermost thoughts was interrupted by some motion from the corner of her eye.

A figure came into view, damp from the rain. Her entire body tensed.

"Miss Granger," Mr. Malfoy greeted her, bowing. She noticed that he was slightly out of breath.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Indeed, to her, this question was becoming redundant. Mr. Malfoy seemed to have a talent in appearing in places he was either unexpected or unwelcome - oftentimes both. She wondered if this was the sadistic design of the universe, to challenge one's character by having one's most loathsome acquaintance encounter them alone during a most inopportune moment. Why, just at the sight of him, Hermione's rage compelled her to grip the handle of her wand. She argued with herself on why she should not hex him to next Monday at this very moment. Would she not be doing the world a favor by doing so?

But alas, the man's demeanor startled her. He seemed flustered. Nervous. But determined. It was an unnerving sight to Hermione, who had barely even let herself believe he could emote anything besides disgust and frigid stoicism. In fact, the urgency with which his eyes encompassed her almost made her forget her anger for a softer, more bewildering emotion – _almost_.

"I'm afraid I did not tell you the complete truth when you asked me my business at Rosings. Lady Bellatrix _is_ my aunt, and Mr. Flint _is_ indeed here on business, but my urge to come to Rosings was not prompted until word of your visit was passed down from Mr. Longbottom."

Hermione blinked at him. Her grip on her wand tightened. " _My_ visit?" she echoed.

"Yes," he said, almost abruptly. He stepped closer to her. "Ever since the first ball at Netherfield, the thought of you has persisted in lingering in every corner of my mind, and every encounter with you since then has only plagued me with more confusion and torment. I can no longer refuse my feelings. These past few weeks I have spent arguing against my better judgment, the traditions of a wizard of my pedigree, the inferiority of your blood – all that I might stand here before you and ask you to end my suffering."

Mr. Malfoy's words floated above her in a swarm. She felt as if she were trying to herd them and petrify them still so that she might comprehend him. He had spoken quickly, as if the urgency of his emotions compelled him to speak them at great velocity before they suddenly disappeared. His figure radiated with intensity, his jaw squared and his brow furrowed. Indeed, with the two of them alone, even in the vast open, Hermione felt her own body respond in a way that was foreign to her – except for that morning she had come upon him and Mr. Zabini dueling in the woods. Every tendon and cell inside her buzzed with the electrifying awareness of his proximity, which puzzled her greatly. Did she not vehemently despise this man? Did she not wish upon him great bodily harm at this very moment? Had she not already wholeheartedly established this fact?

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said, though not very kindly.

His reply came about swiftly, like an exhale. "I love you," Mr. Malfoy said, without so much as a flinch. His eyes retained their seriousness, but there was something else, something undoubtedly foreign – hope. "I'd like to ask you if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife."

Hermione stared at him, no longer aware if she was breathing. Her mind felt dizzy and convoluted, as if she was under a disorientation spell. The surreal nature of this moment nearly even caused her to fail to remember her hatred towards this man, for she felt her heart suddenly pound against her chest in such an obnoxious manner that she knew Lady Bellatrix would not condone. For a moment, she had a flash of it. _Mrs. Hermione Malfoy._

"I am sorry to have caused you such agony as you have described; it was, on my part, unintentional."

Malfoy's expression changed instantly. "Is this your answer?"

"Yes, it is. I cannot and will not be your wife."

She watched as the tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed. "And might I ask why, with so obvious little energy directed at thoughtful consideration-"

"Might _I_ ask why you _presumed_ it would help you to convince me to agree to become your wife by mentioning that you liked me against your better judgment and your family's legacy? And to mention the _inferiority_ of my blood! What sort of insane logic befalls that?" she said. "Only you could insult me and confess that you love me at the same time."

He came closer, his handsome face hardening with anger and his mouth drawing down in a scowl. " _Logic_? Did you expect me to _delight_ in the inferiority of your circumstance? That I create a fantastical pretense in which your Muggle birth or low station did not matter? I live in the real world, Miss Granger. You may choose to hide away in your books and small country shop to avoid the cruel realities the rest of us must face, but this is the truth. Blood, rank, status – they matter. I do not avoid them, and I will not falsely deny their existence just to comfort you."

"How tiresome that must be, Mr. Malfoy – to carry around your sword of self-righteousness with you everywhere you go. Tell me then, did you enjoy splitting apart Ginny and Mr. Zabini just to satisfy your twisted moral compass?"

Mr. Malfoy tensed, clearly shocked from her having known his part in their separation, from which Hermione felt a slight tingle of satisfaction.

"Do you deny it? That you callously orchestrated the separation of two people in love, only to expose them to the most agonizing despair in both realms?"

He looked away. "I do not deny it."

Hermione tried to steady the trembling in her hands by clenching them into fists at her sides. "Are you truly so miserable, Mr. Malfoy, that you could not bear the possibility of your dearest friend finding true love and happiness and leaving you behind?"

His face snapped back in her direction, his eyes narrowing at her. "I do not doubt that would be the reason most convenient for your opinion of me. You cannot be farther from the truth; I would not wish such misery on any being. I separated them because I thought her indifferent."

"Indifferent?" she scoffed.

"I watched the pair of them closely – at the balls, at Netherfield, in town. Miss Weasley was unfailingly polite but never showed more than a faint inclination; as a friend, I could not, in good conscience, allow Zabini to marry someone who did not regard him with a mutual passion."

She gaped at him. "A faint inclination? So you have suddenly become the world's foremost expert in human emotion? Can wealth really buy you anything?"

He ignored this. "Zabini was also convinced of the lukewarm nature of Miss Weasley's feelings."

"Only through the audacity of your suggestion!" she snapped. "Zabini trusts your judgment; he would have no reason to doubt you, therefore anything you say he considers gospel and true." Hermione's anger was so potent that she could feel it coming off of her in waves, vibrating from the heels of her feet. "And I suppose her lack of wealth was another reason you felt they were an ill match."

"That was considered."

"Mr. Zabini did not appear to mind Ginny's humble background. I have no doubt that it was the poisonous influence of you and Miss Parkinson, who takes great care to look down upon her nose at everyone she meets—"

"It would be too simple to blame it all on her sheer lack of fortune," Mr. Malfoy said, frigidly. "But after the incident with her brothers and their thoughtless prank at Netherfield Hall it was clear that her family was also unsuitable."

" _Unsuitable_ ," she whispered, stunned. She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. How anyone could speak ill of the Weasleys, whom she'd only known such love and kindness from, hurt her more deeply than she could say. "What a man of Mr. Zabini's kind and hopeful disposition sees in you I will never know. From the very first moment I met you, Mr. Malfoy - from the first words you uttered to me without even so much as an attempt to hide your disdain, your arrogance, your conceit - I knew that you would be the last wizard on earth I would ever be prevailed upon to marry."

Something rippled across his expression, briefly interrupting his anger. He stepped back, away from her, his voice a low murmur with a sharp edge. "Very well. You have made your answer unmistakably clear to me. I apologize for wasting your time."

He turned away from her, as if to leave.

She called out to him. "And what about Mr. Nott?"

Mr. Malfoy froze in his step. She watched him – the wide line of his tensed shoulders, as if she could read the muscles in his back like one of her books. He turned back around and returned to her, his ire reawakened. " _Mr. Nott_?" he spat.

"The man you slighted out of his rightful fortune."

"His rightful fortune? Is that what he told you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in a withering glare. "You robbed him of his living and still you treat him with contempt. Have you truly no remorse, sir? No conscience?"

He was so very close to her now, she realized. His chest was mere inches from hers, and if he so much as leaned his head down just slightly so… she could feel his breaths against her face. Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise at the sudden sensation.

"You've revealed your opinion of me quite thoroughly, Madam. I do not think there can be more for you to say," he lowly said to her, his eyes flickering across her eyes, her mouth. "Good day."

As always, when he left, he did so as quickly as he came. Hermione waited until he was some distance away before she staggered backwards, gasping for breath, tears burning her eyes. Her heart ached for Ginny and the Weasleys – what a burdensome secret for her to carry back to the Burrow. How could she ever tell Ginny that the only reason Mr. Zabini hadn't stayed was because his friends thought her family inappropriate? That it was due to the unjust opinions and harsh judgments that her dear friend's heart had been so undeservedly and thoroughly broken? Hermione could never utter a word of her discovery to any of the Weasleys. It would be too cruel.

And then there was the astonishing matter of Mr. Malfoy being in love with her proposing marriage! Why…. Here, Hermione did not even have the words. Could not – no, not at the present moment. Just the emotions, all of them, all different sorts, churning inside her like a cauldron, making her breaths short and her knees weak.

And there, even in the rain, Hermione could taste the salt from her own tears.

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Please review!


	13. The Other Half

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Now it's time for... the letter! DUN DUN DUN!

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Chapter 13

Luna opened the door immediately, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Hermione! We were so worried. Neville was just about to go out to the grounds to look for you."

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I'm fine," Hermione said, offering a reassuring smile as Luna closed the door behind her.

"Come sit by the fire and warm yourself up, Hermione - supper is nearly ready." Hermione used a scouring charm to clean up the mud she tracked inside and made her way to the hearth as Ginny disappeared to the dining room, her voice traveling over as she talked. "The oddest thing happened while you were out. Mr. Malfoy came by asking for you. We told him you had gone for a stroll on the grounds. Did he manage to find you?"

Hermione kept her eyes on the fire, feeling herself shiver despite having been kept completely dry from her weather-shielding charm. "Yes, he did."

"Whatever did he want? It seemed awfully urgent."

"He was asking if I had seen Mr. Flint. They apparently had some business to attend to and he could not find him," she quickly lied.

"I see. I certainly hope he found him before the downpour started." Luna popped her head out, smiling at her. "Come, Hermione. Since it is your last dinner with us here, I have made something special for your last night."

Mr. Longbottom joined them shortly for Hermione's last supper at their cottage on Rosings Park. Luna had prepared a wonderful spread of hot food and delicious desserts that also gave them ample distraction from the sopping misery outside. Hermione thanked them copiously for their generosity and for inviting her to stay and see the grounds, for now she could claim with confidence that she had beheld the majesty of Rosings Park in person and carry herself around with such a distinction.

After supper, Hermione retired to her room. She began to pack her things the Muggle way – partially out of habit, and partially because she needed something to occupy her hands, which were still anxious with nervous energy from the night's previous events. Indeed, her conversation with Mr. Malfoy replayed in her mind with an insufferable, masochistic sort of persistence, and its physical symptoms proved unavoidable: shortness of breath, tightness in her lungs, and tingling in her palms. _Ever since the first ball at Netherfield, the thought of you has persisted in lingering in every corner of my mind,_ his earnest voice echoed _. And every encounter with you since then has only plagued me with more confusion and torment…._

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of loud tapping at her window. Flustered, she walked over and unlatched the pane, where a wet owl quickly swooped in to drop off a letter on her desk, drenching everything in its path, before flying back out of her window and back out into the night. Hermione rushed over to shut the windows to prevent further flooding of the Longbottoms' guest room.

She picked up the letter – dry, due to your standard weather-shielding charm – and delicately inspected the wax seal, feeling her heart start to race once she realized exactly whose family seal it was. How odd. She did not know what else Mr. Malfoy could say to her after their earlier conversation.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she opened the letter with a combination of eagerness and caution.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _While our encounter today in the sculpture garden made it abundantly clear to me that you do not reciprocate my admiration towards you, I felt that I could not have you leave Rosings without addressing the offenses you directed to me – not from a desire to right myself in your eyes, but so that I might speak to the opinions expressed that were unfortunately derived from perversely manipulated fact, and present the details that had been withheld from you with the presumed intention of shaping your judgment._

 _From what I know of you, I imagine you would not be satisfied with your possession of only half-truths; consider this letter my attempt to give you the other half. After that, you may do with this information as you wish._

 _It is true that I have known Mr. Nott from boyhood; to boast of my complicated and estranged history with the gentleman would not be honorable, thus I keep quiet of our acquaintance as a rule. His father was a close friend of my father's and managed my family's estate, and Mr. Nott and I, being the same age, grew up like brothers. We attended Hogwarts together and were even sorted into the same House, to the tremendous delight of our fathers. We remained good friends until our sixth year of Hogwarts, wherein I noticed a change in him. He began to disappear on weekends, and some investigation eventually led me to discover that he was gambling and engaging in unbecoming behavior with alarming frequency. I confronted him and made him promise to stop, to which he acquiesced, if I could lend him the money to pay off his remaining debts so that his father would not have to learn of his son's transgressions and be shamed. Thinking him sincere, I did as he requested and paid off his debts of some large sum. I was also sworn to secrecy so that his image not be tarnished to both our fathers._

 _After a few months, he came to me again, claiming great distress and asking for more money to pay off a larger debt he had accrued. I was furious and dismayed to discover that he had not kept his promise, and had continued to gamble away his father's meager wealth. I refused, as he had already betrayed my trust once before, and he left in anger, cursing my family. He did not speak to me again, and boy as I was, I found little interest in directing any of my energy into making amends._

 _A few months later, his father passed away at an unfortunate break-in attempt at the manor. My father, having promised his father that he would make sure Mr. Nott was cared for, set aside a generous inheritance for him at Gringotts for when he graduated from Hogwarts. One day had not even passed after we left Hogwarts when we received notice that Mr. Nott had emptied out his vault. My father and I did not hear one word from him on that day, or any others, for years. At my father's deathbed he made his wish known to me that Mr. Nott and I be reunited at his funeral. I went to every length to locate Mr. Nott and give him this message in hopes of fulfilling my father's dying wish, but he laughed at the_ _request, and made it clear he had no desire to honor my father, even with so small a gesture. Coupled with the grief from my father's death, I will not attempt to convey the immense, ungentlemanly rage I felt towards Mr. Nott. It was that day I declared he and I officially estranged._

 _The year my father passed away was the same year the Greengrasses also perished in a similar tragic manner and Miss Daphne Greengrass soonafter became my ward. Due to some business that kept me away from the manor for extended periods of time, I left Daphne in the temporary care of the wife of our manor's new groundskeeper, who had not been aware of Mr. Nott's history with the family. Mr. Nott took advantage of this and visited Daphne while she was on holiday from Hogwarts for some time before declaring passionate love to her. When he discovered that he would never be able to touch a single Knut of her large inheritance even after they were married, he disappeared and left Daphne heartbroken. I cannot express to you the agony of the grieved state in which I found her when I returned. She was only fifteen._

 _As for the matter of Mr. Zabini, while I now realize I may have incorrectly misconstrued the nature of the subtlety of Miss Weasley's affections, I went about my actions to 'separate' them not callously but with the intention of saving my dearest friend from the misery and humiliation of discovering his deep love was unreturned – or worse, that he might marry someone who did not feel for him as passionately as he deserved. Mr. Zabini is one of the few good men I have known to be steadfast in his good character, and his companionship to me has been invaluable. It is not in my nature to stand by and be complicit if I had even the smallest doubt that someone might wrong him. Presumptuous as I might be, I am fairly certain you, Miss Granger, understand this feeling. It is clear to me that you care deeply for Miss Weasley and the members of her family and would not sit idly by if you harbored similar suspicions. In my examination of the situation and my subsequent actions, I find I am guilty of two things: an insufficient reading of Miss Weasley, and protectiveness of a dear friend. For the first, I am deeply sorry for the pain I've caused those involved, and will take this as a lesson for the future. For the second, I find it not within me to muster any shame, as it was in the service of a friend; this I write at the risk of sounding unforgivably proud._

 _I am too familiar with your disdain for me to ever write you with the design of changing your mind. I have no intention of repeating what I asked of you earlier tonight, nor the sentiments uttered along with it. One day perhaps I may be able to right myself in the case of Mr. Zabini and Miss Weasley. As for Mr. Nott, you have proven yourself very capable of forming your own opinions. Should you consider the information presented to you in this letter as truth, or disregard it altogether, is not my concern. But I do beseech you to be wary in your dealings with Mr. Nott. If the whisperings of his reputation have not yet made it to the countryside, it will only be a matter of time. I do not wish for you or anybody else to feel the grave disenchantment as many others already have, in the trail of Mr. Nott's selfish ambition._

 _I wish you well in your future endeavors._

 _Draco Malfoy_

ooo

Hermione Floo'd from the Longbottoms' cottage in Rosings Park back to the Burrow the next morning, anxious and armed with very little sleep. She had spent most of the night reading, deliberating, and then re-reading Mr. Malfoy's letter in some grasping attempt to understand herself and pacify her inner turmoil over the new information made available to her in his own writing. At first she could scarcely believe the contents of the letter and believed with righteous indignation that it was simply full of fabrication in an attempt to humiliate her and skewer her confidence after refusing his hand. Indeed, she had paced the diameter of the guest room, fuming to herself. The sheer insolence of him! After all, could any of it be true – particularly of the information concerning Mr. Nott, of whom she'd presumed such uncommon goodness and honesty? Could she believe Mr. Nott capable of such cold manipulation and cruelty? After all, it wasn't as if she had a way of writing to Mr. Nott to demand an explanation. She had not heard from him since his letter several months ago. But surely, with Hermione considering her talent in reading people, she would have at least had an inkling about the darker shades of Mr. Nott's character. Wouldn't she?

It was a battle of character Hermione found herself in. Could it be true that Mr. Malfoy, who presented himself with no shortage of odious arrogance, simply be a stiff, unsociable man occupied with being honorable and supremely unconcerned by the unpleasantness he radiated as he went about it? And Mr. Nott, charming and personable, an impeccably groomed psychopath posing very convincingly as a gentleman? Hermione found herself groaning at her options. Why did they both seem equally depressing?

Luckily, Hermione returned to find the Burrow just as she had left it – with a never ending chore list and sufficient distraction to get her through the day. Ginny had also returned just the day prior, which gave Hermione relief – and admittedly some discomfort, knowing what she knew now about Mr. Zabini's abrupt departure, and feeling the truth weighing heavily on her conscience.

"Oh Hermione, please do regale us with more details of Rosings Park," Ginny smiled, as they prepared the night's dinner in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley. "And the very majestic and intimidating Lady Bellatrix! When I returned, I could not help but read a few of your letters aloud to Mama and Papa. They too found your talent for description greatly amusing. Not that they were surprised."

"I do not know what else I could say that I had not already written," Hermione mused aloud, mincing a few carrots. "Except that I find Lady Bellatrix quite frightening and would be relieved to know that I should never have to undergo such thorough cross examination ever again over a dinner table."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "That does not deviate from what I have heard in the past about Lady Bellatrix. I might even go far as to propose that you, Miss Granger, are one of the few Muggleborns to grace Rosings Park thus far."

Hermione looked up, surprised. "Can that be true? But Muggleborns have been around since the beginning of time."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, chuckling to herself. "True as that may be - not in the elite, highborn circles, child. The powerful families – the Lestranges, Zabinis, Parkinsons, and Malfoys, to name a few – are through and through purebloods, and believe quite staunchly in blood purity. It is only recently that they have even begun attending social events that a Muggleborn might be present."

Mr. Malfoy's voice appeared in Hermione's brain, a triggered memory from the night before. _Did you expect me to_ delight _in the inferiority of your circumstance? That I create a fantastical pretense in which your Muggle birth or low station did not matter?_

For the briefest of moments Hermione even considered telling Ginny and Mrs. Weasley of Mr. Malfoy's proposal. From what Mrs. Weasley had just revealed to her about the Malfoys, it was likely they would not believe her. Even now, she could scarcely believe it herself, and sometimes slid her fingers into the pocket of her dress, where she kept his letter, folded, to remind herself it had been real. Mr. Malfoy had sought her out in the garden and truly confessed his love to her. He had not stopped thinking of her since his initial visit to Devonshire. Even moreso, the insufferable man wanted to marry her.

At the moment of his offer, Hermione had not understood the gravity of his proposal and the implications it would have on his family and immediate society had she accepted – for how could she? She had been too preoccupied with feeling insulted by the laundry list of her defects he so _magnanimously_ presented as a preface to his offer of marriage. Indeed, Mr. Malfoy lacked knowledge in the art of subtlety in romance – amongst a great many other things – and incorrectly employed defensiveness rather than persuasion, but the one thing Hermione could not disregard was the passion he had bravely exposed to her. In truth, she could not doubt that he felt for her the way he said he did. It was every bit apparent in the way he _looked_ , _stood_ , _spoke_. Why, it had practically dripped off of him like a fever.

Hermione had no idea she could affect a man that way – to the point of desperation, and willful rejection of all rules of tact. Not to mention higher society.

Mrs. Weasley continued on, with Hermione attempting to shake off her lingering thoughts about Mr. Malfoy. "Of course, not all behave accordingly to the beliefs of their families. A few of the younger members of such families have even demonstrated some distance from such ideals." Here Mrs. Weasley hesitated for a moment, putting down her paring knife. "Take Mr. Zabini, for example. He was perfectly amiable to you, was he not, Miss Granger?"

Mrs. Weasley had said Mr. Zabini's name so delicately, as if testing the waters. Hermione resisted the urge to cast a glance at Ginny, who, from her the corner of her eye, had turned her gaze down to the turnips she had been mincing.

She smiled faintly at Mrs. Weasley. "Mr. Zabini was very amiable indeed."

"You see, girls?" Mrs. Weasley said, picking up her knife and gesturing with enthusiasm. "There is hope yet, little ones."

After finishing their tasks, Hermione and Ginny went up to their rooms so that Hermione could unpack. Ginny told her more about her little cousins and how much she missed them, even though she rarely had a moment of quiet to hear her own thoughts while she had been caring for them.

"London has changed so much, Hermione," Ginny sighed, a bit too earnestly. "And the fashion! There were even interesting little shops on every corner, selling everything you could think of – love potions, serums, herbs from exotic countries I'd never even heard of. It certainly was very diverting. I can understand why it has a reputation for attracting some of the wealthier wizards and witches."

Hermione smiled. "I am glad you enjoyed your time there. Perhaps next time I will be fortunate enough to accompany you, for there's no telling what sorts of mischief two witches of humble beginnings such as ourselves could get up to in a place like that."

Ginny laughed to herself, and Hermione tried to ignore the sad gleam in her eye. "I am looking forward to it." She preoccupied herself with organizing Hermione's ribbons from her trunk, as Hermione's possessions magically unpacked themselves.

"Ginny, I know that you must be disappointed to not have been able to speak to Mr. Zabini during your stay there," Hermione said softly, "but perhaps it is for the best. As grieved as I am that he did not prove to be a man of consistency as we had hoped, it is clear that if he did not go to you upon hearing of your presence in London, he simply does not deserve you."

She did not meet Hermione's eyes and kept them on the ribbons, her fingers stroking the ends. "You are right. I daresay my disappointment shall find a better host soon enough."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't help but feel some fault in this. If I had not encouraged you in thinking that he would propose—"

"Oh Hermione, please don't. We were both victims to the friendliness and pleasant demeanor of Mr. Zabini. We both could not have foreseen such an ending." Ginny set down the ribbons, clearing her throat. "But since we are on the topic of friendly and pleasant gentlemen," she said, "any news from the mysterious Mr. Nott?"

Here, Hermione could not help but laugh bitterly to herself. "No," she replied. "I'm afraid not."


	14. Creatures of Delicate Response

A/N: Hello! Sorry for the wait – I recently was held captive by the Newtina ship and absolutely had to drop this fic to get out a few Newtina fics before I could finally get back to this. A short chapter, mostly setting up for the juicy happenings that P&P fans know is coming!

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Chapter Fourteen

At the Burrow, a few months passed with no word from the three gentlemen who had so indelicately interrupted the quiet routine of Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. The silence, while disturbing at first, and the unapologetic producer of considerable female anxiety, eventually lost some of its bite and allowed them to carry on, forced cheerfulness and all, as they had been before the temporary occupation of one Netherfield Park. Luckily, much of the attention had also been directed towards the highly anticipated visit of Charlie Weasley, who had come all the way from Romania for the holidays, which allowed for a very festive distraction, indeed.

Hermione returned to the Burrow after a lesson at Moony's to the sound of uproarious laughter. A wave of warmth and the delicious, savory smell of a meat pie in the oven welcomed her once she walked through the door, brushing off the light dusting of snow from her coat.

A jovial voice boomed from the living room. "Hermione? Is that you?"

The tall, broad frame of a grinning Charlie Weasley soon occupied the doorway.

"Charlie!"

He pulled her in for a friendly embrace. He was so tall that her chin barely reached his shoulder. Charlie pulled back, smiling.

"I was afraid you'd finally buggered off to be married to some old bore," Charlie teased. "I hear you're still as voracious a reader as you ever were. How are you liking it at Moony's?"

"I am liking it immensely. Though why we should waste time talking about my lessons is beyond me - I'd rather hear about you taming dragons in Romania."

"Not much to tell," he said modestly. "Except that dragons don't take too kindly to trying to be tamed - and they've the equipment to be quite emphatic about it."

They ate supper in high spirits while Charlie was made to suffer through a barrage of questions and was, in turn, forced to tell them stories about his time in Romania. Mrs. Weasley's proud, beaming face did not falter one bit, and for once, Mr. Weasley did not touch the Daily Prophet once during dinner.

After one of Charlie's tales involving losing his eyebrows to dragonfire, Mrs. Weasley quietly cleared her throat. "Charlie, my dear, as you know, as the eldest son, you are coming to an age where taking a wife would best suit you. Surely, if there aren't any suitable ladies in Romania, you might spend some of your time here to look at more... local prospects?"

Fred and George sniggered. "Mama is right. I already can spot a few grays on you all the way over here."

Mrs. Weasley ignored her twins and continued on earnestly. "Why, even Percy's gotten himself all settled. Bill's engaged to that lovely Miss Delacour. Surely you are in need of some companionship after being all alone in Romania for so long?"

All eyes in the room landed on Charlie, the sounds of their silverware dulling to silence. Charlie, however, did not seem at all agitated by his mother's vocal concern over his state of bachelorhood - instead he seemed to find some amusement in it. Hermione was not surprised by this in the least bit. Charlie was handsome, charming, and quite accomplished. She was certain he had his own share of female attention back in Romania and was not lacking in any sort of 'companionship' at all - but such was not gentlemanly information to cheekily divulge over supper.

"If you have anyone in mind you'd like to introduce me to while I am in town, Mama," Charlie smiled, "you are welcome to do so."

Mrs. Weasley's delight was immediately evident. Her eyes twinkled with pleasure and opportunity. She clapped her hands. "Very well! Perhaps we can coordinate an assembly. That would be very convenient indeed." She got to her feet, a halo of energy vibrating around her. "Please excuse me. I must send a few owls immediately."

Mrs. Weasley promptly disappeared from the room with a swish of her skirts.

"It appears Mama has finally found someone agreeable to her aspirations in matchmaking," Ron announced, sending a teasing grin to Ginny and Hermione.

"Perhaps poor Mr. Longbottom wouldn't have had to endure such humiliation if Charlie had come home a little sooner," Fred sniggered.

"That _poor Mr. Longbottom_ ," Hermione said, "is a perfectly amiable man and happily married to a wonderful woman. There are many out there far more deserving of your jokes."

"Is that so?" said Fred. He turned to his twin. "George, I daresay - is that the bitter tone of regret I hear in Miss Granger's voice?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to hear it again to make sure."

"Repeat yourself, if you wouldn't mind, dearest Hermione. And this time - _enunciate_."

"Do leave Hermione alone," Mr. Weasley said with a weary look. "You lads have had enough amusement at Mr. Longbottom's expense."

"It's not as if he can hear us," George grumbled. "Despite the abnormally large size of his ears."

"Your remarks have long lost their novelty. Best to find something else to concern yourselves with. Something more productive, perhaps."

"Maybe you two ought to come back with me to Romania," Charlie suggested. "We're always short of help. Dragons don't exactly inspire many feelings of charity and generosity."

Fred scoffed. "If a Weasley is going to get eaten by a dragon, dear brother," he grinned, loudly chewing his food, "I would certainly rather it be you."

ooo

After supper, Hermione went out to the Weasley's garden to pick a few snowturnips at Mrs. Weasley's request. She knelt down and used a mild warming charm to melt some of the snow until she could see the leaves, still frosty in the moonlight.

She looked up at the crunch of footsteps to see that Charlie had come out to join her. He crouched down next to her and, fluidly grabbing by the stem of the leaves, began to pull up snowturnips.

"You are very kind to humor your mother that way," Hermione smiled, referring to Mrs. Weasley's newest diversion. "I have not seen her this excited in a very long time."

He chuckled to himself. "She means well. It must be hard to be a mother of so many children. Constantly worrying about raising them to be honorable in society and who would make them a suitable match in matrimony. She writes expertly of her motherly anxieties in every letter she sends."

"At least you and your brothers have the luxury of selection of some degree."

"And you do not?" he joked.

"Surely not, for we females are creatures of delicate response. Our beauty is only enhanced by the agreeableness of our answers."

Charlie smiled. "If that is so, then I heard you very _delicately_ refused an offer of marriage from the Herbologist's nephew."

Despite the cold, Hermione felt herself flush from shame. "I suppose I should not be surprised Mrs. Weasley told you about that. She did not speak to me for quite some time. I was worried I had offended her perhaps indefinitely."

"You would be shocked by the proclivity this family has for scandal. This was mentioned to me in detail not from Mama alone - but from Ginny, Fred, Ron, and even my father. But do not worry. Their opinions of whom you should bind yourself to forever should not impede on your future happiness." He looked thoughtful for a moment, holding a round turnip in his hands. "Although I did hold out a hope that you would marry one of my brothers. Ron, perhaps. He is typically a great deal less ridiculous than Fred and George."

Hermione shook her head. "I could never ask that of one of your brothers. My dowry is not nearly large enough to benefit your family - and as it is, they have already been far more generous with me than they ought to have been."

Charlie was not the first Weasley to have had grown keen on the idea of Hermione marrying into the family. Ginny had seemed quite invested in it for quite a long time - until the realities of society and her family's need for financial support had finally been revealed to her in its entirety. Harry had also once brought up the idea of marrying her for convenience, but this was something Hermione felt she could not live with. Not just out of her pride, but out of principle. Along with Ron, Harry deserved to marry according to his heart, not because his poor, orphaned friend would soon grow out of a marriageable age.

Once they had picked enough snowturnips to fill the basket, Charlie took it from her and they both stood to their feet, sinking in the snow.

"If only you were less determined to live by your principles, you'd find you could have a much easier life," Charlie remarked, as they began to walk back to the house.

This she could not dispute. Hermione felt a pang in her heart, reminded of Mr. Malfoy's proposal to her at Rosings. It had been a few months now since that rainy day at the sculpture garden where she had been ambushed by his confession and had refused his hand in marriage, but she could not say with any truth that she hadn't thought of it often since. In fact, a day had yet to pass without her being reminded of it in some way, or without her thoughts having absently landed on Mr. Malfoy and the conflicted feelings he inspired in her.

A few times she had been tempted to confide in Ginny about the events at Rosings and Mr. Malfoy's letter - in a vain effort to find some outward reassurance that she had made the right decision - but doing so would have required her to reveal the true reason of Mr. Zabini's abrupt departure. Even in her most desperate moments, Hermione did not find her emotional turmoil a sufficient enough reason to inflict such pain and embarrassment on her closest friend. Thus, Hermione found herself wrestling with her thoughts and feelings of Mr. Malfoy, alone.

"You are an exceptional woman, Miss Granger," Charlie reassured her, catching onto her silence. "You deserve a man worthy of your admiration and affection." He gestured to the basket of snowturnips. "I'll take this into the kitchen. Please tell Ginny I said good night."

ooo

Mrs. Lupin had agreed for Hermione to teach a few rudimentary potions to the children, so Hermione had chosen a few simple healing potions to begin with. Mr. Sculthorpe had been generous enough to donate most of the herbs needed for their lessons, citing Hermione's interruption of a wayward cart on its way to nearly killing his nephew as even more reason to give to their cause.

"Well done, Hermione," Mrs. Lupin beamed at her, after the last of the children had left the shop after the lesson. "Remus will be glad to know the children survived their first Potions lesson." Mrs. Lupin closed the hefty catalog she had been updating with a loud _thump_. "Ah - speaking of my beloved husband - we have decided to close the shop for a few days this year for the holidays. We've been invited to see the collection of one of his former students - apparently he's got a few items of interest that he may be keen to sell to us."

Back before Mr. Lupin had started teaching regularly at Hogwarts, he and Mrs. Lupin had traveled far and wide to collect rare items for the shop. Those stories were Hermione's favorite to hear from Mrs. Lupin. They were always so full of color, adventure, and intrigue.

"That's wonderful. I can keep an eye on the shop while you're out if you'd rather not lose any business. It is the holidays, after all."

Mrs. Lupin waved her hand dismissively. "Surely not. You, my unsociable, bookish pearl, are coming with us."

Hermione set down the books she'd been holding. "Coming with you?"

"Yes. Remus and I have decreed it so. It's only a few days. Come as a favor to me. I'm worried I'll drown in testosterone. Or worse - get stuck sitting in the drawing room with a humorless, expensively-perfumed lady while the men are out having all the fun. And – I've heard the estate has a massive library."

"A massive library," Hermione muttered to herself. "You're positively shameless in your methods of persuasion, Mrs. Lupin."

Mrs. Lupin feigned offense. "I've already sent an owl to Mrs. Weasley. You'll be back in time for Christmas." She smiled sweetly. "If poor old Ginevra has any complaints, you can tell the girl to direct them straight to me."

ooo

A few days later, Ginny sat with her while Hermione packed for her trip with Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. In the corner, Ginny's dress had been hung up, her ribbons carefully chosen, for tomorrow night's assembly in Charlie's honor. Hermione was quite relieved to have a reason to miss the assembly - the memories it brought back to her were still too fresh, too prone to discomfort. She could tell Ginny was also less than enthused about having to attend, but Lavender had insisted on Ginny's presence on the sheer principle of saving face. News of Mr. Zabini's hasty exit had spread far and wide in the town, and everybody was keen on seeing Ginny's reaction - if not but for the mere purpose of having nothing else of importance to occupy their thoughts.

Ginny was disappointed she could not have Hermione there to commiserate with - Lavender, no doubt, would be off trying to secure her own prospects - but graciously forced an excited expression nonetheless.

"Perhaps Mrs. Lupin means to groom you," Ginny said thoughtfully, running a comb through her hair. "To take over the shop. She and Mr. Lupin are bound to have a family soon. They'll be needing the extra help."

"Perhaps. I am happy to help out in any way I can. They have been nothing but generous with me. This trip might be quite educational."

"Just don't pick up anything cursed," she said. "And do be careful. While I was in London with my aunt and uncle, they told me a few rumors of some nefarious happenings in town. A few incidents with Muggleborns and whisperings of some kind of blood purity uprising." Ginny suddenly looked worried. "I know you are quick with your wand, but you will stick close to Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, won't you, Hermione?"

"Of course," she reassured her. "Do not be so worried, dear Ginny. I doubt I'll have much time apart from the Lupins. Before you know it, I will have returned here in no time to continue my unique talent in being a burden to your social life."

Ginny laughed, shaking her head. "You could not be a burden to me even if you tried your hardest, Hermione."

"You are sorely mistaken – no doubt, a forgivable offense for someone of your goodness. But I could easily put other burdens to shame with very little effort. Every night I pray you will never have to witness it."

Ginny only smiled at her, before disappointment crept back into her features. She averted her gaze. "I'd feel better about going to the assembly if I knew you were going to be there to find humor in everything. Just the thought of everyone… looking at me. Poking at my most intimate disappointment. Wondering why I wasn't good enough for Mr. Zabini."

"Do not concern yourself with the thoughts of others, dear Ginevra. We must not distress ourselves with matters we have no hope of changing. What matters is that you go to the assembly to support your brother's return, witness the many looks of longing from his many female admirers, dance with a few handsome men, and preserve the details so that you may be able to tell me all about it when I return – all so that we can both laugh at the silliness of it all together. Understood?"

Ginny grinned, her sorrow temporarily forgotten. "Understood."

ooo

The next morning, Hermione met the Lupins at Moony's, where she received a warm greeting from Professor Remus Lupin. He thanked her generously for all of her help at the shop – "I fear I sometimes must contain my jealousy for it's been on more than one occasion that Nymphadora has written that you are her most favorite person in all of the realm" – and even brought her back a few old books for her personal reading list as a gift.

After being transported by Portkey, Hermione and the Lupins found themselves standing on a desolate road. It was by no means an unpleasant area - on both sides there were thick, lush trees, and a path in the center had been worn down by years of use. There was, however, seemingly not another soul for miles.

"Is this..." Hermione hesitated, looking around.

Lupin chuckled to himself. "A few moments' of patience is required, I'm afraid. The estate is protected by numerous wards to deter unwanted guests. We're some distance from the beginning of the estate."

They turned their heads at a distant sound. A gleaming, horseless, black carriage was moving down the road towards them at an impressive speed.

"Ah, here it is. Splendid."

The carriage came to a stop beside them, raising a faint cloud of pale dirt around them. Hermione went in first, then Mrs. and Mr. Lupin. As soon as Mr. Lupin was seated, the door promptly shut, and with the jolt of movement, the carriage continued on.

"Do all your former students often contact you to sell off one of their family's old heirlooms, Mr. Lupin?" Hermione asked. From the window, the miles of trees soon turned into vast, sprawling acres of a beautifully picturesque landscape, reminding her of the impressive milieu of Rosings Park.

"No, not at all. It may very well be a shock to you, Miss Granger - but very few students take an interest in getting to know their professors at all. I cannot deny that Hogwarts has its share of exceptional students - but most, I'm afraid, are there because their families have been attending Hogwarts from its very inception. There are only a very special few that catch my attention on the basis of their ability and merit."

In front of them, large, ornate gates opened to let the carriage through to the main grounds.

"The very special few - do they all live in places like this?" she said dryly.

"Oh yes. Remus is very selective with his favorites," Mrs. Lupin winked.

Lupin laughed. "While you know I am of the same personal inclination when it comes to matters of wealth, it would not be fair to judge a person's character merely because of the amount of Galleons at their disposal."

"This former pupil of yours must transcend the disadvantages of having such comforts available to him."

"I fear I must leave that up to you to judge. You shall meet him soon enough."

The carriage came around a marble fountain and then slowed to a stop, prompting their exit by the motion of the door swinging open. Mr. Lupin helped his wife and Hermione down from the carriage, only for Hermione to find herself wordlessly stupefied at the grandiosity of what was in front of her. Why, it was even more impressive than Rosings in both size and elegance - a feat she had never even fathomed existed.

Mrs. Lupin stepped up beside her, amused by her gaping. "Don't worry, child - your words will come back to you in a moment."

Mr. Lupin led the way, walking up the steps. "Welcome to esteemed grounds of Pemberley, ladies," he called out cheerily.

"I am supposing the remarkableness of this former pupil's character extends past what his family owns," Hermione frowned, following behind. Besides the sound of the water from the fountain and the distant sound of the carriage rolling away, they were surrounded by complete tranquility – just carefully maintained, beautiful acres of land, for as far as the eye could see. This was something the wealthy could afford in excess, far from the sounds of the bustling city, or the soil-covered country: the luxury of complete quiet.

"You are correct, Miss Granger. As you know, before my professorship was made permanent, I'd been a stand-in a few years ago at Hogwarts while the former professor was on leave. He was my top student in Defense Against the Dark Arts - made extraordinary marks in all his other subjects as well, according to his professors. He graduated at the top of his class and caught the eye of many - so much so that he'd been handpicked for accelerated Auror training by the Ministry of Magic, an honor only given to very few."

"And who, exactly, is this former pupil who has managed to impress his grumpy old professor?" she asked, imagining some stiff, uppercrust aristocrat.

They reached the tall, looming doors.

"A Mr. Draco Malfoy," Mr. Lupin replied. "This is family's estate, Pemberley. It's also known as the Malfoy Manor."

Hermione's heart stopped and was suddenly startled back to life by the heavy groan of the doors opening in front of them.

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Thank you for reading and please review!


	15. Lost and Found

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing!

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Chapter Fifteen

"…certain you'll have the opportunity to see the surrounding area, but Pemberley is known for its excellent forestry – often referred to as the finest woods in all of wizarding England. It's protected, of course, and is the home to many rare creatures. There was even a poet some years ago who came to stay here as a guest and penned some beautiful verses about those woods," Mr. Lupin rambled on. "I believe I have a copy back at the shop that I can gladly lend you when we return, Miss Granger."

The oversized doors opened to reveal a house elf silently waiting for them on an impressive marble-tiled foyer. The house elf bowed to them courteously. "Welcome to Pemberley. I am Fifer, and I shall be leading you on the tour today. Please follow me."

Mr. Lupin walked on ahead while Hermione remained paralyzed in place, her heart seemingly very close to bursting out of her chest. Her eyes could barely take in the elegance of the place before her – so spacious and full of natural light, giving an ethereal glow to the priceless artifacts scantly yet artfully displayed around the room. For a moment Hermione felt very small, both physically and emotionally, dwarfed by the simple grace – and so remarkably lacking in pretension - of being in such a setting. After a moment, she felt a nudge at her side and looked up to find a curious expression on Mrs. Lupin's face.

"Are you well, Hermione?" she asked, a slight smile on her lips. "Although I must say - it does bring me some delight to see you so stunned. For a woman of your quick wit, It is such a rarity to see you rendered speechless." Mrs. Lupin moved her gaze up to the high ceilings, then to the several Grecian marble statues that lined the walls ahead of them. "It's a bit obscene, isn't it? The beauty that wealth can buy. Although I must give credit where credit is due – after the late Mr. Malfoy passed, his son did quite a bit to Pemberley. Hid away much of the more gaudy décor. Concentrated a bit more on art."

Hermione found herself still in the midst of attempting to gather her words. "I-"

"His taste rather suits Pemberley more than his father's ever did," continued Mrs. Lupin. "Come on now. We don't want to miss the tour, do we?"

With another nudge, Hermione stiffly followed after Mrs. Lupin.

"Is this truly Mr. Malfoy's residence?"

"Oh yes. Pemberley's been with the Malfoys for ages," Mrs. Lupin replied. "Have the Weasleys neglected to brief you on the most powerful wizarding families?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I suppose because they thought it would bear no importance to you, out in Ottery St Catchpole. The Malfoys are an ancient pureblood family - quite a torrid history, I'm afraid. That's the problem with being so old and powerful. It invites misfortune into the bloodline. Remus and I met Mr. Lucius Malfoy years ago on our travels - a rather glacial man, if I must say. As I said - he's passed now, left his entire fortune to his only son." Mrs. Lupin sighed wistfully. "Pemberley is his alone to do with as he likes. To think – one day he shall marry and some lady shall be the lucky mistress of Pemberley! I should hope the woman is worthy. It is indeed a surprise Mr. Malfoy has not yet wed, but I find one must admire his determination in his selectivity - especially with all of the single women in high society desperate to gain his affection and all of the perks that come attached. It inspires hope that whomever the esteemed title shall be bestowed upon will be an extraordinary woman to have bewitched such a man of elusive fondness."

Hermione felt her chest tighten at Mrs. Lupin's words. Oh how Mrs. Lupin should laugh if she only knew he had made his selection after all – and that she, in her righteous anger, had refused him!

They entered the first room, a large room full of stone and marble sculptures, some very old. Fifer stopped them in front of a few notable figures, explaining their history and importance. As Hermione studied the fine workmanship of the statues, she was caught between awe and discomfort, admiration and insecurity. Her palms began to sweat and she clenched some of the fabric of her skirt between her hands in anticipation for when she might see Mr. Malfoy again in all of the majesty of his home. The memory of his proposal was still potent in its effects, scattering her thoughts far from the objects of her company's concentration.

"Does your master still find time to practice dueling?" Mr. Lupin asked Fifer.

"Indeed. Master Malfoy is nothing but diligent in his hobbies."

"It almost feels distasteful to name it as such, considering his extraordinary skill. I still warrant that he would have been one of the best Aurors in our time, had he finished his training. Nevertheless, even without it, I have scarcely seen such clear-eyed focus and impeccable aim, even from those who can boast decades of experience."

Hermione remembered Mr. Malfoy dueling with Mr. Zabini in the woods at Netherfield Park. "Why did he not finish his training?"

"Family matters, I'm afraid," Lupin said solemnly. "It was during the time Miss Daphne Greengrass became his ward. He was concerned what would happen to her if he were to be killed as an Auror after his training. It was a difficult choice for him, certainly, but being an Auror is a dangerous job. He refused the possibility that Miss Greengrass might have to re-experience another loss of someone close to her after losing her family in such a tragic manner. A respectable decision for a man of his talent. Not many others can claim such careful concern in their judgment. There was another boy he was close to, at Hogwarts – practically brothers, I believe, the son of this manor's groundskeeper. Nott, was it?"

Fifer the house elf scowled. "We do not speak of Mr. Nott here any longer," he said sternly, before leading them out of the room. Hermione stared after the elf, remembering the contents of Mr. Malfoy's letter about Mr. Nott's many offenses against the Malfoys. Could he have been telling the truth? Surely if she could find someone else – someone ideally not under servitude to the Malfoys – to confirm…

Mrs. Lupin stopped Hermione in front of a marble bust displayed quite prominently by the door.

"Look. This might be him," Mrs. Lupin murmured appreciatively. "Wonderful jaw. Symmetrical face. Looks a bit familiar – must be because he resembles his father a little." Hermione remembered that Mr. Malfoy had stopped by the shop once but hadn't left his name with Mrs. Lupin in an attempt to keep anonymity for the donated books. "A very fine man, by the looks of it. Do you not think him handsome, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes rested on the features of the bust's face. Yes, there was a remarkable resemblance. But it lacked the intensity of his expression - the stormy strength of his eyes, and steadiness of his focus.

She swallowed hard, embarrassed by the emotion overwhelming her through the visual absorption of his stony likeness. "Yes. Yes, I daresay he is."

This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Lupin. They left the room and followed after Fifer and Mr. Lupin, who appeared to be absorbed in some conversation regarding the history of Pemberley as they passed large windows that allowed spectacular views of the garden. Hermione paused and neared the glass, enamored by the many colored roses in full bloom so vibrant against a rare, cloudless sky. The voices of Mr. and Mrs. Lupin faded into the background as Hermione's eyes scanned not only the impressive size of the garden – from here she could barely see its end – but its extraordinary assortment of both beautiful and exotic plants. It appeared Mr. Malfoy was a collector of many things, not just books and works of art.

When Hermione was finally able to tear her eyes away from the bounty of the Malfoy gardens, she did so with the discovery that she was now all alone. She walked down the long, pristine hallway, listening for the sound of voices and footsteps, but only found herself at the juncture of another empty hallway. She walked down towards a door she could see that had been left ajar by just a sliver.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lupin?"

She entered the room and found herself in what appeared to be a library with its walls lined with various – and oddly non-magical - paintings. She slowly made her way around the room and found no one else, but found herself unable to resist the temptation and began to peruse the spines of the books, all first editions. A familiarity was sparked in her, and she inched down the row, skimming the titles and authors of one novel after another at increasing speed, until the realization finally dawned on her—

"Hello?"

Hermione jumped, startled by the voice. She turned to see a young girl looking at her inquisitively, dressed in fine clothes and no older than a teenager. Hermione quickly curtsied to her, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. To be caught trespassing in such a place! "I'm so sorry. The door was partially open and I saw the books -"

"Are you with Mr. and Mrs. Lupin?" the girl asked curiously.

"Yes. I was on the tour with them and got lost. I was distracted," she said, apologetically. "Please believe me, I did not mean to encroach."

"I wasn't aware the Lupins had a daughter."

"They do not - I am but a close acquaintance. I teach lessons occasionally at their shop. My name is Hermione Granger."

Suddenly, there was a spark of recognition in the young girl's eyes, her face transforming with delight. " _You_ are Miss Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. And again, I am very sorry for intruding-"

"I am most certainly not! How glad I am to finally meet you - I was not certain I ever would," she said excitedly, drawing closer to her and curtsying. "I am Daphne Greengrass. Draco has told me so much about you. Oh, I am so pleased I am able to meet you at last, for I have a strong suspicion you and I would become fast friends." Miss Greengrass was beaming at her, appearing quite angelic, faintly illuminated by the beams of light filtering into the room. She had dark hair and light eyes which only complimented her delicate patrician features. It was apparent she was the sort of beautiful young lady whose beauty would only enhance with age.

"I am undoubtedly flattered," Hermione said, when she was finally able to speak through her shock that Mr. Malfoy had uttered her name in conversation to Miss Greengrass at all – nor that he had spoken of her so favorably. Did she dare believe such a statement? "I met Mr. Malfoy so briefly. I did not think our encounters would make such an impression on him."

This she felt a bit ashamed lying about, but it did not appear as if Miss Greengrass knew about his proposal – surely if he had divulged that detail, she would not be so happy to see her, the woman who had rejected her caretaker and refused him his happiness so vocally? Indeed, it was not the sort of thing a gentleman would take care to advertise, but the knowledge that perhaps Miss Greengrass had been protected from the ugliness of that day relieved Hermione somewhat. Hermione hated to think of how Miss Greengrass might have greeted her if she'd known – no matter how much she may have deserved it. Nevertheless, it did invite with it some specter of guilt, that Miss Greengrass should look upon her with such excitement, without the entire truth of her relationship with Mr. Malfoy.

"I daresay you made a rather large impression on him." The expression on Miss Greengrass's face nearly made her blush. "He mentioned you quite often in his letters to me while I was at Hogwarts. He told me that you are a Muggleborn – but that you teach charms and spells to young wizards and witches in your town. I find that very admirable. I could only imagine if I was not able to go to Hogwarts. The children are very lucky to have you."

Hermione was pleased to find no condescension in Miss Greengrass's voice, only ample sincerity. "You are too kind, Miss Greengrass. The children are very eager to learn. I'm only sorry that I often do not have the resources to further engage their curiosity."

"Please, call me Daphne," she replied happily. "And if it is improper I give you permission to blame it on my youth and my nature of being prone to too much excitement in front of pleasant company."

Hermione could not help but laugh – how very charming she was! And certainly bearing no resemblance to the well accomplished yet snobbish Miss Greengrass she had conjured up in her mind many months ago. It was one of the rare moments Hermione was pleased to be wrong. "If you insist – but only if you call me Hermione as well."

"Very well, then. I am glad we have settled that." Daphne looked around. "How fitting it is that I would find you here, in this room."

"Why is that?"

"This is not a room often open for the public. It's a bit of a secret, really. In our society it isn't exactly acceptable yet to convey appreciation for the…" Daphne thought for a moment. "Non-magical."

Hermione's suspicions were confirmed, for she had recognized many of the books on the shelf. She did not know how to feel about this, that Mr. Malfoy should have a hidden room just for his Muggle collection. "This is where he keeps works by Muggles?"

"Yes." Daphne grew sheepish. "I see now this may look distasteful to you. I apologize if it offends you – it is not meant to. Draco has a great appreciation for all kinds of art, regardless of magic, but to boast of rather liberal standards is frowned upon by many in our circle. This is why he houses them in a private library."

"I see." Hermione wondered if he would hide away his feelings for her here, in this room, if he were able to. "I am not offended. Thank you for your honesty."

Daphne smiled. "I can see why Draco respects you so. You are probably unlike anyone he's ever met," she said. "You are smart and kind. Full of conviction in your passions."

Hermione felt herself flush. "I'm afraid I cannot confirm that. I am sure, with his connections and many acquaintances-"

"I have scarcely heard of him talk about anyone the way he has talked about you," Daphne said, beaming. "But enough about Draco. I have heard you play the pianoforte. Will you play a duet with me, Miss Hermione? Oh please. It's been ages since I have had a duet partner."

"Perhaps later. Mr. and Mrs. Lupin must be looking for me - I really must find them."

"I shall take you to them. I know exactly where they should be."

Hermione followed Daphne out of the room, making sure they heard the click of the door close behind them. As they walked through the Manor, Hermione could not help but wring her hands, wondering if there was a way for her to quickly avoid having to see Mr. Malfoy again. This was all for naught, however, as when they turned a corner, they found themselves suddenly following the figure of a man some distance away.

Hermione's breath hitched.

Daphne called out to the man, her merry voice bounding down the hall. Mr. Malfoy turned on his heel, a faint smile lighting up his features upon seeing Daphne - however, his expression was immediately eclipsed upon seeing who was currently keeping her company. He reciprocated a warm embrace from Daphne before bowing to Hermione.

"Look who it is I have found!" Miss Greengrass exclaimed, gesturing to Hermione, whose heart had began to beat furiously inside her ribcage. "It is Miss Hermione from Ottery St. Catchpole. She has come with the Lupins. How exciting!"

"Miss Granger," he greeted, his voice low. Whatever surprise had flashed through his expression was gone now, and only his usual stoicism remained. An impressive feat, considering the sentiments they had ended their previous encounter with.

"Mr. Malfoy," she curtsied, a bit clumsily. She was out of breath suddenly – something she could surely blame on her uneasiness. "I apologize for the intrusion - I am not sure if the Lupins told you they would be bringing a guest."

"I made it perfectly clear that the Lupins were free to bring whomever they desired."

"Oh." Hermione searched for the right words. What was a woman to say to the man whom she had accused of wrongdoing twice over and also refused his hand in marriage - and whom she could now not stop thinking of? "Thank you. That was very generous of you."

Mr. Malfoy looked away and they continued walking. "It is no inconvenience. The house is large enough and Mr. Lupin is a good friend."

"We were just on our way to returning Miss Granger to the Lupins. I have made her promise to play a duet with me later on," Daphne beamed. To Hermione, she said, "Draco is good at very many things, but I'm afraid he is very ill at the pianoforte. I've tried to teach him but I'm afraid he is beyond reach for even the most experienced tutors. He said you played very well at Rosings."

Hermione laughed. "Not at all, I'm afraid."

"I said she played decently," Mr. Malfoy said, not meeting her eyes.

"I am flattered by the charity of such compliments, but I'm afraid the truth is that Mr. Malfoy and his party were made to suffer through the single song I played at Rosings. As a general rule I stay away from musical instruments, much to the relief of everyone who knows me."

"You are too modest, Miss Hermione," Daphne insisted. "For I have never known Draco to lie. He is honest to a fault."

At this, Hermione instinctively looked up at his face and they briefly met eyes, where she caught the slight flush of his cheeks. He quickly looked away, and Hermione wrung her hands behind her back to deter the sudden tingling in her fingers.

"Very well. I will indulge you, Miss Daphne – though I warn you now my playing will not be able to keep up with your legendary skill. I have heard much about your extraordinary talent with the pianoforte on my visits with Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini."

"That does not surprise me. My dear guardian prefers to talk more about my accomplishments rather than his own," she teased. "He is a master at the art of deflection. Oh look! We are here."

With the door already open, they entered a large, dim room with dozens of artifacts on display, protected by glass. Hermione could hear Mr. Malfoy and Fifer the house elf lowly conversing on one side as well as Mr. and Mrs. Lupin's excited chatter in the far corner of the room, huddled over one object in particular. Hermione watched as Mr. Malfoy passed them and made his way over to the Lupins, who greeted him warmly.

"Do you collect anything, Miss Hermione?" Daphne asked her.

Hermione refrained from telling Daphne that she was in no financial state to collect anything of much value. She smiled wryly. "Knowledge, if anything. And good, genuine company."

"Those are very valuable, indeed."

"Has Mr. Malfoy always been a collector?"

"His father was, and his grandfather. That's why they've amassed such a collection. But the only thing Draco truly loves collecting are rare books. He's always loved to read. He's made me a few recommendations, which I've enjoyed – but find myself unable to sustain the passion that he has for the written word. Perhaps you do. I have heard you are also a great reader."

"I doubt Mr. Malfoy and I have the same taste in literature, for he certainly has access to a greater variety – but there is no reason one reader cannot appreciate another."

More introductions were made as Hermione and Daphne joined Mr. Malfoy and the Lupins and they were summoned into another room in the manor for tea. Hermione, grateful for a reprieve from such focused attention, was content to listen along to the Lupins' enthusiastic exchange with Mr. Malfoy as a casual observer. Why, Mr. Malfoy had even laughed once or twice – something she had not witnessed he had done once around the company of Miss Parkinson and Mr. Zabini. In fact, she been all too engrossed in her study of him that when she became aware of it, she looked away only to catch the smile of Miss Daphne, who had suddenly diverted her giddy attention to the interior of her teacup.

After tea, Miss Daphne was whisked away by her tutor, and Mr. Malfoy and Fifer the house elf led them to their rooms in the upper portion of the manor, which was just as elegant as the lower portion of the house. Mr. Malfoy walked alongside Hermione while the Lupins followed closely behind Fifer. Hermione was unable to avoid taking notice of his presence beside her – the stately movement of his perfectly contained stride, his height and perfect posture. Details of which she had considered so trivial before yet unnerved her now, in such proximity.

"Might I inquire after the Weasleys, Miss Granger?" he asked quietly.

"Of course. They are doing well, thank you. I trust Mr. Zabini and Miss Parkinson are doing well in London?"

"Quite well, from what I have gleaned from their letters."

"They are still quite talked of, back in Devonshire. It's rare we get such fashionable visitors. I expect their visit shall be recounted to generations to come."

"Then I shall ask them to visit more often, to keep the supply fresh."

Hermione laughed. "Thank you, but I'm afraid it would take an extraordinary event to have Miss Parkinson step one foot back in Ottery St. Catchpole."

There was a faint smile of amusement on Mr. Malfoy's face. "I'm inclined to agree. I'm afraid Miss Parkinson's interests are better suited to her present location. Mr. Zabini, however, is less selective in where he is able to find amusement."

Her reaction to this particular comment must have shown, however, as Mr. Malfoy spoke quickly.

"I apologize, Miss Granger. I did not mean any offense. I simply meant that Mr. Zabini is a great deal more easy-going than his cousin."

Mr. Malfoy's shame in his thoughtless remark was evident as they stopped in front of their adjacent rooms. He diverted his eyes from Hermione to the rest of the Lupins. "Supper will be served at seven. You are free to explore the manor and its grounds during your stay here. Fifer can be summoned quickly for any questions. I hope you will make yourself comfortable."

They thanked him for his hospitality and Mr. Malfoy and Fifer left them to explore on their own or repose in their rooms for a few hours.

"Hermione, how could you not tell me Mr. Malfoy was the generous donor of the shop's books for the children?" Mrs. Lupin asked in a whisper. "I had told him of your grand idea of introductory Potions lessons for the children and that you had convinced Mr. Sculthorpe to donate the supplies – and Mr. Malfoy has offered to fund all future lessons for the children at Moony's!" Mrs. Lupin said happily. "To think, Hermione – there would be no limit to what you could teach the children!"

Hermione dazedly sat down on the edge of the bed, taking in Mrs. Lupin's news.

Mr. Lupin was grinning in agreement. "Did I not tell you Mr. Malfoy was an extraordinary fellow?"

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More Pemberley goodness in the next chapter! Reviews are appreciated! :)


	16. The Same Man

**A/N:** I know - we don't get nearly enough Draco/Hermione interaction, but we end this chapter with something SAUCY! Thank you for your reads and reviews, I'm always so happy to hear I've managed to keep you guys excited despite the many of you who ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENS! How badass is that!

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Chapter Sixteen

In all of her years thus far, Hermione had never had the opportunity to experience such heady confusion towards an individual until she had crossed paths with one Mr. Draco Malfoy of Pemberley Manor. At her aunt's news she found that she could only halfheartedly share her delight, for Hermione's stomach had grown tight with unease. It was precisely the kind of good deed they needed at Moony's, certainly – but whatever could Mr. Malfoy mean by this new act of charity? Was this his way of further tormenting her after she had refused his hand in marriage – or was this the benevolent side to him that every living soul here at Pemberley had seemed all too keen to advertise?

Hermione ruminated on such thoughts and feelings in the sprawling Malfoy gardens, grateful to have some time alone. She found that fresh air helped in soothing her nausea whenever her mind's chatter became too much, and the fragrant blooms provided a needed distraction. She wished Ginny was here, despite the inkling that her friend's advice would console her very little. Ginny, ever the eternal optimist, already believed Mr. Malfoy to be a decent man, despite his cold manners and unsophisticated social graces. She would surely take the most recent news and simply proclaim him to be the kindest man who had ever lived.

Hermione explored the gardens on her own for the better part of an hour before Miss Daphne found her, at which point she was thankful for her presence to lead her away from her own thoughts, which had only grown more muddled and confused.

"Miss Hermione! I thought I saw you wandering around here from the upstairs window. How do you like the gardens?"

"It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever had the chance to behold. I do not believe I have even made it halfway yet. How were your lessons?"

"Very well. I am learning a few new pieces that are more complicated than I am used to, but I enjoy the challenge."

Hermione laughed at the young girl's enthusiasm. "I admire your fondness for the pianoforte. My mother played the pianoforte well and attempted to teach me, but I'm afraid her natural skill or her patience for diligent practice did not pass along to me. Rather, I inherited the bookworm trait from my father. We would sit in his study and read for hours without uttering a single word to each other."

"How intriguing. Were your Muggle parents frightened when you discovered your magical abilities?"

"Yes, but not in the way you would presume. They had heard of mutterings in the surrounding towns about people with magic. But they were more worried – the town we lived in was very small, and our preacher had taken a liking to burning suspected witches."

Miss Daphne cringed at this. "How awful. The girls in the dormitories would often tell such stories about Muggles – how they would hunt and torture witches, even if they were not actually witches."

"The Muggle world is not all bad, Miss Daphne. It is fear that sometimes makes people do cruel things, regardless of their blood."

Miss Daphne had taken to gently stroking the thorns on a rose, her expression faraway. "Sometimes it is not fear," the young girl said sadly. "Sometimes it is greed."

Hermione stayed quiet, noting the sudden turn in their conversation. Miss Daphne continued on.

"Earlier, the way Mr. Lupin talked of the future Draco could have had, had he chosen to complete his Auror training... It was my fault he did not reach his full potential. I know deep in my heart that what Mr. Lupin says is true – Draco could have been one of the greatest Aurors the Ministry has ever had."

"I beseech you to not think such thoughts, for they are vastly untrue. Mr. Malfoy's decisions are his and his alone."

"It is because of me he had to come home," Miss Daphne said, rather distressed. "If only I had not been so foolish, so blinded."

A tear slipped from the girl's eye and disappeared into the layers of the rose she had fixated upon. Her bottom lip trembled with emotion.

"I do not think you have heard of this scandal, Miss Hermione – for Draco in all his kindness did everything he could to suppress it to save my reputation. A few years ago when I was fifteen, shortly after I became Mr. Malfoy's ward, I stayed at Pemberley for the summer while he went off to Auror training, which required him to be away for a few months. A Mr. Theodore Nott arrived, claiming to be an old family friend of Draco's, and when he was informed Draco was away, he began to continue to visit and keep me company. I did not mind it as he was handsome and charming, and I grew to fancy him rather immediately. After a few weeks, he told me he loved me and wanted to marry me, but said that Draco would not approve and that it would be best if we ran away and eloped.

"As passionate as my feelings were for Mr. Nott, I could not stifle my guilt so easily – and I wrote to Draco confessing everything, including my wishes to marry Mr. Nott with his blessing. Draco arrived at the manor the very next day and confronted Mr. Nott. I could not tell you the immense shame and sorrow I felt after Mr. Nott's true intentions had been revealed to me – that all this time, the true object of his desire had been my inheritance. I did not leave my room for weeks. I was even half inclined to tell Draco I had been under a love potion just so he would not think I was such a stupid girl for falling for Mr. Nott's lies. He did not return to Auror training after that. He did not tell me so directly – but I had overheard him speaking to Mr. Zabini one night. He blamed himself for Mr. Nott, and that he could not, in good conscience, leave me again."

Miss Daphne sniffled, looking up with large, tear-filled eyes. "So you see, it is my fault, Miss Hermione, that he has not become who he was destined to be."

Hermione shook her head. "Forgive me, but I cannot agree with you. You had no part in this. You were a child and you were taken advantage of by someone you trusted. It is neither your fault, nor Mr. Malfoy's."

There was no denying it now that the contents regarding Mr. Nott from Mr. Malfoy's letter had been true. There was no pretense to be found in Miss Daphne's shame or sadness. Rather, Hermione felt a simmering anger deep inside herself for Mr. Nott – for him to take advantage of such a lovely, innocent girl! It was simply inexcusable. Worse, even, that his charms had been so convincing that he had fooled even her, Hermione, in thinking he was every bit a gentleman that he was not!

How steadfastly she had defended him to Mr. Malfoy! He must have thought her a great fool, indeed. How could she behave towards Mr. Malfoy now, knowing her error? How could she ever amend herself?

"The reason I am telling you this, Miss Hermione, is that perhaps you could convince him to go back – to complete his Auror training. I have tried, numerous times, to no avail. I would not ask you this if I did not know how he respects you and thinks highly of your opinion."

Hermione was taken aback by this request. "I do not know that he would be very receptive to my thoughts on this topic," she said, as gently as she could, "considering it is one of a very personal matter." She neglected to mention that she and Mr. Malfoy had not managed to build a good rapport based on personal matters in the past.

Daphne smiled forlornly. "I understand. I apologize for putting you in a place of discomfort, Miss Hermione. You are a guest here. It is improper of me to ask you for such a favor. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, Miss Daphne. As for what you ask… I shall try. Should I be able to catch a moment with him alone, and should the conversation steer itself naturally… I shall try, for you."

Daphne's face was transformed immediately. She clapped her hands together and then startled Hermione by pulling her into an embrace. "Oh thank you, Miss Hermione! You have my every gratitude."

After their interlude in the gardens, Daphne showed Hermione into the manor's parlor, where her new piano forte sat, polished and gleaming. Daphne expertly performed a piece for her before Hermione was tenderly coerced into playing a duet, and where her clumsiness often triggered peals of giggles between the two girls. Fortunately, Daphne also seemed to have been bestowed with great patience in addition to ample grace and beauty. So engaged they were in their entertainment that they did not notice another presence entering the room.

"I see your new piano forte is receiving plenty of attention."

They looked up to find Mr. Malfoy, a nearly visible smile playing across his lips. Hermione felt her heart skip inside her chest.

"Miss Hermione is a far better duets partner than you, Draco," Daphne teased above their playing. "For at least she is a willing pupil."

"I am sure if Mr. Malfoy could gather some of his concentration, he could become quite decent – that is, if he desired it."

Mr. Malfoy indulged them all with a smile, lighting up his features quite handsomely. Indeed, Hermione was almost dumbstruck at how different the gentleman looked when he relinquished himself to genuine pleasure. "Alas, I do not."

"Blasphemous!" Daphne laughed. "Please, I cannot condone such talk around my new piano forte for you shall hurt its feelings. It is too pretty to feel such despair." She turned to Hermione. "Draco brought this home as a surprise to me. I was perfectly content with getting my old piano forte repaired, but I believe he finds great satisfaction in spoiling me, though he shall never admit it."

"A great player deserves a great instrument. I believe no one would dare argue with that."

"Do you see, Miss Hermione? He is positively shameless."

That he was. Hermione caught herself smiling at him, for she could see how much Draco cared for Daphne, and how Daphne adored him back. How different this Mr. Malfoy was – so undecidedly un-taciturn, and warm. She could hardly compare him to the Mr. Malfoy she had met back at Netherfield Hall, with his scrutinizing frown and arrogant, dismissive attitude. Why, she almost even wondered if he were even the same man at all.

ooo

They reunited with the Lupins for a joyous supper full of merriment and laughter. Mr. Lupin told more stories of his time teaching at Hogwarts, and Mrs. Lupin claimed her share of the attention by sharing tales from their travels, long before Moony's. In all of this Hermione could not help but throw glances across the table at Mr. Malfoy, whom she now almost barely recognized.

After supper they were invited into the parlor room for tea and drinks while Miss Daphne regaled them all with a few pieces on her piano forte. Mr. Lupin dramatically read aloud one of the poems that had been written about the surrounding woods of Pemberley. Before long, their boisterous laughter turned into jaw-cracking yawns, and it was announced that it was time for all to retire for the night.

Hermione changed into her nightclothes and crawled into bed, cracking open her book that she had already read perhaps a dozen times. No matter – it was one of her favorites. Each time she read it, there was always something new to love.

She did indeed feel exhausted, but it was her mind that still buzzed with vigor, and after she could not go a few paragraphs without her thoughts ambling away from her literature, she closed her book. She looked at the clock on the wall, gnawing on her bottom lip. Surely it was not too late for a visit to the library? At this hour, who would even care to look? After all, Mr. Malfoy did say they were free to explore the manor during their stay…

Hermione snuck out of her room and tiptoed quietly down the long staircase, passing by the dim, flickering lights in the halls. She remembered where the master library was located from their tour and was relieved to find it unlocked.

It was, of course, exactly the way she had dreamed it would be. Gigantic and filled to the ceilings with books of every size. Hermione barely knew where to start, but she forced herself to choose a spot. They would be leaving Pemberley for Ottery St. Catchpole tomorrow. Not one second was to be wasted. After all, Hermione did not know when she would be fortunate enough to be allowed such an extravagance again, especially since it was apparent Netherfield would continue to stay vacant for quite some time.

She grabbed a few books and sat herself on one of the rungs of the ladder that rolled against the very tops of the long, endless bookshelves. She was only a few pages in when she suddenly heard a faint sound, and looked up to see Mr. Malfoy had entered his own library and was, indeed, looking in her direction.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, feeling slightly embarrassed – though she could not pinpoint exactly why, until she remembered her improper attire. She closed the book and began to make her way down the ladder.

"Please, you are free to use this library as you like," he said. "And if I should speak so frankly, I am not at all surprised to find you here."

A concentration of heat spread across her cheeks. "The day I have such a library of my own, I promise you shall see less of me. With a library so vast, I doubt I would have much reason to venture out into the world."

"And what of your loved ones and friends?"

"They shall have to come to my library for a visit if they ever hope to see me again. And if they should find that disagreeable, then I'm afraid our friendship was quite disposable to begin with."

"It nearly frightens me that I should find your rationale so sound," he said, chuckling. "I, myself, would prefer a hermitlike existence if I did not have business to attend to in the outside world."

They stared at each other for a moment, before the realization of their current situation - that they were alone in a room, at an improper time of night, with Hermione clad in just her nightgown - seemed to dawn on them both simultaneously, and Mr. Malfoy stepped away, clearing his throat, while Hermione grabbed one of the books from the ladder, hugging it to her chest. She watched as Mr. Malfoy made his way to a table in the middle of the room, picking up a stack of books.

"Miss Daphne Greengrass is a lovely young lady," she said. "Equally endowed in intelligence, natural skill, social graces, and beauty. I see now why Miss Parkinson only has praises to sing of her."

"Miss Parkinson sings like a bird only when there are others are around to hear her," Mr. Malfoy said with a dry tone of sarcasm. With a swish of his wand, the books began to float back towards the shelves, reinserting themselves back into their proper places. "You mustn't think me so unaware, Miss Granger, for it was not above my skills of observation to note how you could barely tolerate her back at Netherfield."

Hermione laughed. "As it is, it was a pleasure to _barely tolerate_ her. It is not often I meet such a rare breed of high-class bird. Miss Daphne, on the other hand… she is the paradigm of how every young lady ought to be."

"I unfortunately cannot claim any responsibility for that. Daphne has always had a mind of her own. She is exactly the person she wants to be. Rather extraordinary for someone her age."

"Indeed she is." Hermione hesitated for a moment, digging her fingernails into the spine of the book. "It is obvious she cares for you deeply. She has told me of her hope that you would go back and complete your Auror training."

"Ah, but of course. Trust me, Miss Granger - her hopes are better spent elsewhere. Daphne knows this."

"Since I stepped foot on your property, I have heard of little else than what a brilliant Auror you'd make– one of the best the wizarding world has yet to see. Surely that makes it a little more difficult to dismiss the idea so easily? Was it not your dream once?"

"Dreams change, Miss Granger." He turned to look at her. "I am sorry to tell you – but you are not the first Miss Daphne has persuaded into trying to convince me to go back. Her persistence is admirable. I must apologize for her – she has a stubborn belief that everybody's happiness is her responsibility, try as I might to convince her otherwise."

More books floated up into the air, and Hermione fixated on them, taking a deep breath.

"In the gardens… she told me about what happened with Mr. Nott." Mr. Malfoy visibly tensed at the sound of the man's name, and she looked at him apologetically. "You must think me an immense fool for having defended him."

"I think no such thing," he said firmly. "Mr. Nott is an expert at weaving the most convincing lies. Even the most intelligent are not exempt from his schemes. Rather, I think he finds perverse enjoyment in ensnaring those who would seem the most unlikely. Just like Miss Daphne, you are at no fault. The only thing you are guilty of is a desire to believe the inherent goodness in others."

Hermione laughed bitterly at herself. Merlin, how could he speak of her so? After she had accused him, to his face, of such cruel and false misconduct? "You speak far too kindly of me, Mr. Malfoy, than I deserve."

At this he met her eyes, and they shared a long, meaningful look. Hermione was the first to look away, uncomfortable with the way her body seemed to respond to his gaze, as if it was being awakened for the very first time. "Not only that, but Mrs. Lupin told me of your pledge to fund all of the future lessons at Moony's. It is, I fear, far too generous."

He smiled wryly, putting down the book in his hand. "Forgive me – I believe you had once accused me of not being generous enough, and now I am at fault for being too generous? Pray - what level of generosity, Miss Granger, would satisfy you? At the present I find myself stunned at such a complaint."

"It is not your level of generosity – rather the motives behind it," she muttered.

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate."

"I would simply like your assurance that your most recent act of generosity has nothing to do with what happened at Rosings."

Mr. Malfoy flinched at this, but did not back down. He stepped closer to her. "Such as?"

She sucked in a silent, shaky breath, noting his nearness. "You are too wise to bait me into recounting the ugliness of that encounter. I do not believe either of us would stand to benefit from reliving it."

"For the record, Miss Granger, my pledge to the children is because I happened to hear you, that day you took great pains to point out to me the hypocrisy of my donations to Hogwarts. I happen to agree that there may be other avenues in which I can contribute, one of which happens to be the magical education of the underprivileged children in my favorite professor's hometown. I am happy to give where it is needed. So the answer to your question is no," he said, so lowly it nearly turned into a growl. "My pledge has naught to do with what happened between us at Rosings Park."

The little distance between them boiled with tension, which Hermione could also feel had possessed her all over her body. Here they were, caught in yet another intense exchange wherein she was trapped underneath the veil of his smoldering eyes. Indeed, inside the tornado of her own emotions, she had never felt a stronger urge to draw close and kiss anyone in her entire life, and for a minute his face appeared to do just that – inch ever so slowly, ever so invisibly towards hers – and she was very certain that she would not step away if he did, that she, in fact, desired its occurrence with every glimmer of magic humming through her body.

But, just when her eyes were about to flutter closed in anticipation, he leaned back on the heel of his foot, drawing away. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were still mercurial with passion. "If you have no other grievances to air with me tonight," he murmured, quietly, "I should bid you good night."

He left, then, as he had proven himself excellent at doing many times before, and Hermione let out a trembling breath to compose herself before exiting the library and heading back up to her room, where she did not sleep a wink until morning.

* * *

Are you screaming? Because I'm screaming. (I'm such an amateur.) I know, I know – Jane Austen most def didn't have an almost-kiss in the Pemberley library at midnight with Lizzie just in her nightgown – but this is where we must thank the fanfic gods for making this possible! You know the drill – reviews are always pretty rad to receive!


	17. Brief and Unexpected Contact

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing, as always!

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning dawned crisp and pale, rather unexceptional for another winter's day. Hermione had watched the sky gradually lighten through a gap in her curtains, feeling torn between relief and sorrow that they were to be leaving Pemberley in just a few hours to return to Ottery St. Catchpole. She did not feel as she had during her last days at Netherfield when Ginny had been ill – the place had grown to bother her with all of its elegance and uncluttered space, and over time had started to feel like a corset she couldn't loosen or take off. Pemberley, however, was a different creature. She could spend hours looking outside one of its many windows, wondering at the wild woods gingerly kissing the edges of the land. She wondered if Mr. Malfoy liked those woods, if he visited them often, and what he thought of when he did.

It was clear to Hermione that the more time she spent around Mr. Malfoy, the more unsettled she became, for her uncertainty had only grown in direct correlation to her increased exposure to him. The more she wanted to gather him back into the coarse, ill-mannered figure she had pegged him to be, on that very first night at Netherfield Hall, the less he appeared to fit. The truth was that Hermione was not used to being surprised by wizards - or men in general - particularly of his breeding and rank. Males of his societal upbringing were either narcissistic bores or cold businessmen, and for a time, Mr. Malfoy had appeared to adhere to his kind quite impeccably – at least, until now.

What a sweetly torturous topic Mr. Malfoy had become for Hermione's innermost reflections, for entirely different reasons than those she had originally derived. In fact, thinking back on the very first day she met him felt like years ago now, as if from a different lifetime.

Hermione packed up her few belongings and dressed before heading down for breakfast, where she greeted the Lupins and Daphne. Mr. Malfoy she could barely rest her eyes on with the memory of last night still so fresh, but he too she greeted as politely and as graciously as one would. They had a leisurely breakfast, helping themselves to the fresh fruit and hot pastries with no urgency, trading the stories they hadn't had a chance to share last night. Hermione was content to listen along and laugh at the Lupins' lovable eccentricities, but also could not help but notice the marked difference in Mr. Malfoy's enthusiasm. He was more reserved than he had been the previous night, though only subtly so, and only perceptible to someone paying all too close attention.

A few hours later, with the exotic object of the Lupins' desire contained in a primly packaged box for their travel, Daphne and Mr. Malfoy walked them out of the manor towards the horseless carriage. Outside, the esteemed Pemberley grounds were now covered in snow, a pristine blanket of white.

Daphne wrapped Hermione in a tight and familiar embrace, her breath materializing in a white puff as she spoke earnestly. "Miss Hermione, how glad I am to have met you! Will it be too much of a favor to ask if I can write to you while I am away at Hogwarts? I am positive the anticipation of your clever replies will motivate me through my dreary schoolwork!"

"Of course, it is no favor at all. I would be honored to exchange letters at your convenience."

The young girl pulled away, clapping her hands with joy. "How delightful! I shall write every week. Twice a week, if I am in deep distress and simply inconsolable."

"I look forward to it," Hermione smiled. For a moment, she was tempted to lean in to tell her that she had failed in carrying out the favor she had asked of her, but Miss Daphne had already turned away to say goodbye to the Lupins, and Hermione was left with Mr. Malfoy.

She could almost barely look at him as she curtsied, and she was glad for the cold for it slowed the physical effects within her that his close presence elicited. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Malfoy. It was an honor to visit Pemberley. This is not a place that will be easily forgotten, nor its inhabitants."

Behind her, there was the creaky swing of the carriage door opening and the affectionate chatter of Mr. and Mrs. Lupin as they climbed in.

Mr. Malfoy bowed to her, all seriousness and manners, even if just a touch distant. "Of course. It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger."

With that, Hermione turned to climb into the carriage, feeling a quiver in her chest that she could not directly attribute to the winter chill, when she suddenly felt a hand underneath hers, strong and steady, as she lifted herself up on the step. The realization did not dawn on her until she was seated and the door had snapped shut, the carriage propelling them forwards into motion. Miss Daphne was waving to them as they began to move away, but all Hermione could see was Mr. Malfoy, his figure tall and perfect with his hands by his side, watching her back as Pemberley Manor in all of its snowcapped splendor grew smaller in the distance, and so did they.

ooo

Hermione returned to the Burrow only to be welcomed by the sounds of wailing traveling from the living room.

"Hermione! How fortunate you have arrived," Ginny greeted her immediately in a hushed whisper, drawing her into a hasty embrace. "Quickly – into the kitchen."

"What on earth is the matter?" Hermione asked as Ginny led her into the kitchen, where the walls only muffled the weeping reverberating through the house. She was surprised to see Fred, George, Ron and Charlie already in there, seemingly hiding out. "Is that Mrs. Weasley crying?"

"No, it is not Mama," Ginny said worriedly, her hands wringing the coarse fabric of her apron. "It is Mrs. Brown. She and Mr. Brown arrived early this morning."

"Mrs. Brown? Whatever for?"

"Their daughter, of course," Fred snorted. "What else could break a mother's heart so wretchedly?"

"An idiot son would do the job just fine," Charlie muttered. "Show some compassion, won't you, Fred?"

"It's Lavender," Ginny said to Hermione, clearly distraught. "Oh Hermione, it's horrible. At the assembly last night, Mr. Nott was there. He was seen talking to and dancing with Lavender all night. This morning Mrs. Brown found Lavender's bedroom empty and a letter from her stating that she had run away with Mr. Nott."

Mr. Nott! Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as she clutched the edge of the table behind her. "Did she not say where they were to go?"

"No. They left no clues as to where they might have gone. Father and Mr. Brown have gone to speak to people around town to see if perhaps they had overheard anything. Poor Mrs. Brown has been inconsolable for hours. She thinks Lavender will ruin their family forever, for she has no reference of Mr. Nott's character." Ginny grabbed her hand, her palm clammy. "Hermione, you can attest for him, can't you? Perhaps that will soothe her a bit."

"I cannot," she said firmly, drawing her hand away.

Ginny stared at her, shocked. "Why ever not? I thought you said he was a perfect gentleman."

Hermione flinched at this. A perfect gentleman! How terribly misguided she'd been. "Oh, Ginny, if only you knew the painful truths I have had revealed to me—"

They were interrupted by the loud sound of the front door opening, signaling the boys to their feet. Charlie and Ginny were the first to make it out of the kitchen, anxiously flocking a weary and snow-dusted Mr. Weasley.

"What is it, Papa? Any news?"

He sighed heavily. "Not much, but whatever it is you shall have to hear with your mother and Mrs. Brown. May Merlin help us all."

Mrs. Weasley stood when he entered the room, Mrs. Brown dabbing her swollen eyes with a handkerchief, her body heaving with soft, watery sobs. Hermione and the Weasleys crowded by the doorway, pressing themselves up against the wall, trying to be as silent as possible.

"What is it, Mr. Weasley?"

"The Fosters thought they saw Mr. Nott and Miss Brown together ducking into the Floo station, early this morning –" Mrs. Brown wailed louder "—but I'm afraid that is all anyone has seen, aside from their flirtation at the assembly. No one certainly thought much of it, either. After all, many conversations have been had at assemblies that did not turn into scandals."

"Mr. Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley admonished.

"I am only saying, my dear wife – no one could have foreseen this, nor have known to prevent it. Lavender is such a friendly girl. Why, it'd be odd if she wasn't seen talking to some new gentleman every time there was a social event."

Hermione could barely keep down her own guilt, for she had certainly known – at least, enough to prevent it. Why, if only she'd told Ginny about Mr. Malfoy's letter as soon as she had returned, and made sure all the young females were warned! Why did she not think of it? Why had she let her own embarrassment and pride convince her into silence and put Lavender's reputation at risk?

They were suddenly startled by an owl flying through the window. Ginny was the first to it, hastily retrieving the letter from its leg. "Papa! It's from Mr. Nott's Lieutenant from the Auror office - the Ministry of Magic."

Mr. Weasley took the letter, reading it quickly.

"What does it say?"

His expression was grim. "Worse news, I'm afraid. He says that Mr. Nott had been expelled from the Auror office for quite some time now due to an inability to refrain from… unsavory habits."

Ginny paled. "What sort of unsavory habits?"

"Gambling debts, I'm afraid," Mr. Weasley said wearily, and Mrs. Brown's sobs deepened. Mrs. Weasley crouched over her, rubbing her shoulders, muttering words of comfort. "Extraordinarily large sums of it."

"Do you think he might have taken Lavender for ransom?" Ron asked.

"At the present moment, none of us can say," said Mr. Weasley. "He did not leave a note, but perhaps he is waiting for a more opportune time, when it is more dire."

"Or perhaps they mean to wed," Ginny suggested, though her feigned optimism fell flat against the current temperature of the room. "Lavender had talked of little else these recent weeks ever since the announcement of Padma Patil's engagement."

"That would certainly be one of the more desirable outcomes," Mr. Weasley muttered. "Let us hope the fates are in your favor, Ginevra, that this should be just the foolishness of two young people in love rather than an act of deviousness. For all our sake's, but Lavender's most especially."

"It would hardly do Lavender any good to be married to a man with such disagreeable proclivities," said Charlie. "I doubt she would marry a man knowing the full extent of his debt."

Mrs. Weasley had had enough of their standing around and gawking. Their talk had only further distressed Mrs. Brown. "Enough! Please find a way to make yourselves useful," she said, shooing them away. "Hermione and Ginny – would you begin preparing supper? Though I doubt many of us will have much an appetite tonight, having something hot and savory may be our only comfort."

Hermione and Ginny went into the kitchen with their voices hushed as the boys trudged upstairs.

"Have we not considered that maybe Lavender is under some sort of love potion, or spell?"

"That I'm afraid we cannot know until she is found," Hermione said, despite her knowledge of Lavender's fondness for handsome, charming men with professional distinction – dishonorably ejected or not. She doubted Mr. Nott would have told her about him being banished from his Auror training and likely had conjured up another heart-wrenching story centered around his undeserved misfortunes. If he had chosen to disclose it - his debts he would have painted in some similar light. Ginny caught onto her tone immediately.

"Do you really think Lavender ran away with him on her own accord?"

"I think Mr. Nott knows how to employ his charms expertly and nothing should be so quickly dismissed until we find proof." Hermione reached into the basket of snowturnips to begin preparing a stew when Ginny suddenly grabbed her arm, stopping her.

Her tone was soft, nearly a whisper, as if she was afraid the walls would eavesdrop. "Hermione – what was it you were saying earlier, about Mr. Nott?"

"He is not the man I thought he was. Quite the opposite, in fact. He plays the victim so convincingly, and I did not even stop to think once that perhaps there might be another side. I do not wish to alarm Mrs. Brown, though it is slowly being revealed now – Mr. Nott is not a man of honor as we had hoped. I should be surprised if he even knew the concept."

"Oh my." This only seemed to torture Ginny more. "You don't think… he won't hurt Lavender, will he?"

"I cannot say. He has not shown any inclination towards violence, but we have only known him in social settings." Hermione placed the snowturnips into Ginny's hands, an urgent idea coming to her. "Will you get started on the stew? I need to send an owl to someone who might be able to help us."

Hermione was already halfway up the stairs when she heard Ginny call after her. "Who?"

Once she was in their shared room, Hermione grabbed a piece of parchment paper and pried open her ink bottle.

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _I am sorry to write to you asking for a favor so soon after you had generously hosted us at Pemberley, but I would not be writing if it was not an urgent matter. A friend of mine, a Miss Lavender Brown, has run off with Mr. Nott. She was last seen in his company at last night's assembly here at Ottery St. Catchpole and left a note to her parents, though she did not divulge any details of where they might have gone, or if they might be wed._

 _We have just received an owl from Mr. Nott's former Lieutentant from the Auror office – apparently he had been ejected from the Auror training program quite some time ago due to his large gambling debts. We are worried for what this means for Lavender. It is not clear what he intends to do with her but the signs are making it difficult for us to hope for a happy resolution._

 _I am not writing to you for your sympathy, for I know I could have prevented all of this had I just revealed the truth I had discovered of Mr. Nott's character. That is my own mistake and guilt to carry. However, you have known him for several years – perhaps you might have any clue of where they might have gone? Or the name of an acquaintance you believe Mr. Nott still keeps in correspondence with?_

 _I am sorry to inconvenience you in this manner, but any information you are able to send would be of much help. At the present time we find we have exhausted all of our resources._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione Granger_

ooo

It was not an hour after she had sent off her letter with an owl for Pemberley manor before she received her response. Hermione tore open the letter with Ginny watching her anxiously.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _I am sorry to hear such troubling news from Ottery St. Catchpole. Unfortunately, it has been a long time since I have had any contact with Mr. Nott, for I have done nearly everything in my power to sequester myself and Daphne from him. I am deeply sorry to say I have no information to give you._

 _My sincere wishes that Miss Brown returns safely and unharmed._

 _Draco Malfoy._

"What did he say?" Ginny said. "Can he help us?"

"No," Hermione said hoarsely, full of disappointment. She tucked the letter into the pocket of her skirt, swallowing hard. "No, he cannot."

"That is unfortunate, indeed. But I wish you would not look so grieved, Hermione. It means a great deal you even wrote to him. I know how much you dislike him."

For a second Hermione opened her mouth to tell Ginny the truth – how wrong she'd been, how foolish and stubborn, and how embarrassed she felt to have taken so long to believe the truth about Mr. Nott and Mr. Malfoy and even that of herself. How she could have prevented all of this by having told Ginny and Lavender about the contents of Mr. Malfoy's letter instead of having hidden it away as part of her secret shame! Was that not the purpose of friends? To share with them your innermost conflicts and expose the occasional ugliness of one's own pride in hopes that they might help in its timely correction? But no, it was her vanity that had been her prime motivation, her wish to preserve herself in the eyes of those she loved. Oh, how she had not truly known herself until this very moment!

Hermione could feel the deluge waiting, feel the pressure in her chest that begged for release, but in her cowardice and emotion, she still did not. She would not feel right taking the attention away from Lavender's situation. Their energies needed to be gathered towards finding her and Mr. Nott, not Hermione's regrets surrounding a certain gray-eyed gentleman.

"I am sorry that you returned to such bad news," Ginny continued. "Perhaps it might do us well to distract ourselves, if at least temporarily, while we wait for news from Mr. Brown. How was your trip with Mr. and Mrs. Lupin? Did you find it as educational as you presumed?"

Hermione looked up to meet Ginny's curious, expectant eyes, attempting to shake away her lingering thoughts. The kitchen was filling with the aromatic scent of snowturnip stew – a typical favorite of Hermione's, though today she found herself lacking an appetite.

At Ginny's inquiry she suddenly remembered the moment in front of Pemberley Manor when she had stepped up to climb into the carriage, and Mr. Malfoy had wordlessly offered his hand as support, shocking her by the brief yet unexpected contact. Even now, her hand tingled at the memory. What could Mr. Malfoy have possibly meant by it?

"Yes," Hermione said quietly, still quite affected by the last few days. "Yes, I daresay it was."

* * *

 **A/N:** Truth: Few things give me little pleasure aside from the Darcy hand flex scene in the 2006 Pride and Prejudice, which I didn't get to write here, but I did manage to sneak in the part where he helps her into the carriage! I'd delayed that part (originally it was when she returns from Netherfield) because I thought it would be more meaningful and satisfying to have it when Hermione's feelings for him were a little more fleshed out.

But! That being said, I want to say we're in the homestretch, ish? Geez. I can't believe it either! As always, reviews are always welcome!


	18. Introducing Mr and Mrs Theodore Nott

A/N: Very sorry for the very long wait! Thanks for coming back and giving this fic another chance!

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Harry's hasty, ill-formed snowball disintegrated in mid-air and showered down on Hermione in icy, soggy clods, interrupting her reading. Ron's laughter rang out from where he hovered in mid-air, his shocking red hair stark against the bleakness of the winter sky.

Hermione closed her book and shook out the melting ice from her hair, sending them a dry look. "You two are clearly at the peak of your social maturity."

Harry grinned. "Come fly with us, Hermione. Even if you fall – and you won't – there's at least two feet of snow on the ground to soften your landing."

"Tempting, but no."

"What a bore you are, Hermione," Ron teased. "How are you going to ever catch yourself a suitable husband if your nose is buried in a book at all hours of the day?"

"Surely not any more than I would riding around on a broom," she quipped.

Harry laughed at this, circling on his broom, and Ron snorted. "At least the latter's fun. If you're going to die a spinster, you could at least make it fun!"

"Thanks. I knew I could always count on you two for proper encouragement." She was just about to return to her page in her book when they suddenly heard yelling in the distance.

Ginny was running over to them from the Burrow, her cheeks flushed and the hem of her dress stained dark from the snow. Hermione stood to her feet, and Harry and Ron grounded themselves from their brooms.

"Ginny? What is it?" Hermione asked, alarmed.

"It's – Lavender," Ginny said, trying to catch her breath.

"Has she returned? Have they found her?"

"Mrs. Brown – received a letter – from Lavender," said Ginny. "Lavender – has been – wed to – Mr. Nott!"

Hermione did not know whether it was appropriate to feel shocked. It had been two days since her return from Pemberley and the discovery of Lavender's disappearance with Mr. Nott, and there didn't seem to pass an hour without someone wondering or fretting aloud about the future of Lavender's fate. Hermione, herself, did not know what she had expected to be the outcome of all of this. She expected the worst but hoped for the best. Did that make her a hopeful cynic?

"She is coming to visit today," Ginny said, finally able to speak in a full sentence without gasping for air. "She will stop by her parents' then she will come here, to the Burrow."

"What for?" Ron snorted. "To gloat about her scandalous elopement?"

Ginny scowled at her brother. "Because she knows we've been worried sick about her, Ronald. I will be happy to see her – and happier to see that she is well, and blissfully married as she has always hoped to be."

Both Harry and Ron looked doubtful at this. Even Hermione, who found her skills in feigning emotions she did not feel severely lacking, mirrored their uncertainty.

"Married life will suit her well," Ginny said, wringing her hands, looking over to Hermione for confirmation. "Do you not think?"

ooo

The news of the newly married Mrs. Lavender Nott's visit sent Mrs. Weasley into a frenzy, as if she was not the same Lavender Brown who had skipped and giggled through the halls of the Burrow for many years now. Indeed, Mrs. Weasley appeared relieved at the news, and offered her share of excitement, but also moved with the airs of anxiety, plagued by a maternal nervousness. Hermione wondered if this was because Lavender had wed before Ginny. It was not an ideal match, not at all, but it was still marriage. How others thought contractually-binding matrimony was such an accomplishment, Hermione still could not claim to understand. (It was this – according to many others – that appeared to be her problem.)

Hermione found herself uneasy and displeased at the thought of having to face Mr. Nott again. She wondered just how unforgivable it would be if she were to send him a little hex – only just painful and humiliating enough to be memorable, despite her desire to inflict proper harm for what he'd done to Miss Greengrass and Mr. Malfoy. She and Lavender were never particularly close, but Mr. Nott was not a good man, and the thought of her friend –who was never really malicious despite her ignorance and frivolity – being bound to him caused her despair. No one deserved that, not even someone as ridiculous as Lavender Brown.

"Hermione… I do hope you're okay with Lavender and Mr. Nott coming to visit," Ginny said softly. Her eyes scanned her apprehensively. "I know how keen you were on Mr. Nott—"

Hermione abruptly stood from where she sat on her bed, startling Ginny into silence. She tried to shake off the memory of it with disgust and self-shame. "Please believe me, I was a fool to be keen on him."

Ginny sent her a soft look of sympathy. "He charmed us all, Hermione. I hardly think you were the only one convinced by him."

Hermione shook her head, her throat growing tight. "Oh Ginny. I hardly know where to begin."

"Begin? With what? Hermione, you know that you can tell me anything."

Hermione paced the small area by their shared window with Ginny's eyes attentively trailing after her. "Mr. Nott is not a good man. And I was gravely mistaken – about everything, and everyone. It was not Mr. Malfoy who abused Mr. Nott's goodness, but rather the exact opposite."

In a desperate deluge, Hermione told Ginny everything about Mr. Malfoy's letter about Mr. Nott, and how she had heard the corroboration with her own ears from Daphne when she'd gone to visit Pemberley. Ginny stayed silent as Hermione talked, her expression growing more and more concerned as Hermione revealed more to her about Mr. Nott's deeply unsavory character.

"Oh my," Ginny whispered to herself, raising her fingers to her lips, once Hermione had finished. "Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry you felt as if you had to keep this burden to yourself. Do you think Lavender knows?"

"I doubt it. Even if she knows a little of it, he will have perversely twisted the truth beyond recognition to flatter his own image."

Ginny fell back into silence, and Hermione went with her, both lost in their own concerns. Hermione stared out of the frost on their window, as if expecting the newlyweds to appear any moment now.

"I do not know that there is anything we can do about it now," Ginny said quietly, sadly. "If we made Mr. Nott's history known now, Lavender would be ruined forever."

"If only I'd told you and everyone as soon as I heard, it might have prevented all this—"

Ginny grabbed her hand. "You have no fault in this, Hermione. Please do not assign any blame to yourself. You could not have known Mr. Nott would set his sights on Lavender next. You hadn't even an inkling if he would ever return. And poor Miss Greengrass and Mr. Malfoy…"

"And to think I accused _him_ of being malicious and coldhearted! Could a person be so wrong? For I fear I feel I am the biggest fool that ever lived."

Ginny had a strange look on her face, as if in awe. "I don't believe I have ever heard you make such an admonishment on yourself. This must be very close to you."

Hermione frowned, falling into the empty space on her bed beside Ginny. "I would, if I could, blame it on my moral conscience - but that would be a lie. It has nothing to do with selflessness. Rather, it is because I do not take kindly to being made a fool. Should I be less proud of a witch, less stubborn in my own opinions-"

"Then you should less be like the Hermione Granger we all know and love," Ginny reassured.

However, in light of their current circumstance, Hermione could not find much to celebrate in that.

ooo

Mrs. Weasley's face appeared to be frozen in a smile, cheeks high and flushed despite being remarkably joyless to those who truly knew her.

"It's amazing, isn't it," Ron whispered to Hermione under his breath, digging into his quail. "I wouldn't be surprised if she'd resorted to using a petrifying charm on the muscles on her face. It's frightening."

Harry quietly chuckled under his breath. Despite Lavender's enthusiastic, very detailed account of the dress she wore on her wedding day, their remarks did not go unnoticed. From across the table, Ginny sent them a pleading glance.

"I've never seen Mama like this," George agreed. "It looks as if she's about to have a pulmonary embolism."

Indeed, it was obvious to all in the room that Mrs. Weasley had journeyed far from her comfort zone, having the new Mrs. Lavender Nott and her unscrupulous husband over for lunch. All morning Mrs. Weasley had been in a frenzy preparing the most lavish meal she could possibly serve with the short notice, as if to somehow compensate for the discomfort she knew would hover like a cloud above the room, all forcibly attempting at friendly conversation despite their feelings about all that had transpired and, notably, the gentleman who had been in the center of it all.

Lavender, however, seemed oblivious to the palpable anxieties of her lunch hosts, stopping only from speaking to interject another detail of her wedding she had forgotten to mention. Her husband sat silently to her side, only glancing up to send his new wife subtle looks of dry contempt. Aside from Mrs. Weasley, Ginny was the most merciful, asking the couple questions with an almost convincing hint of curiosity. Mr. Weasley nodded and spared a few words, preferring instead to keep his eyes on Mr. Nott in an unspoken act of fatherly intimidation.

Hermione watched all of this with a mixture of feelings – righteous anger at Mr. Nott, sadness for Lavender, pity for Mrs. Weasley – which bubbled within her with an acidic-like quality, thus prompting her to eat very little. She noticed she was not the only one, as Ginny had courteously piled her plate and had barely touched her food.

"I thought Mr. Nott was in debt up to his chin," Harry wondered.

"So did I," said Hermione.

"Then how is it possible Lavender could have had this wedding she's describing? It sounds awfully lavish for someone who had to be removed from his post because of an unsavory inclination towards gambling everything he owned."

"I heard Lavender's uncle had something to do with it. A pay-off, in addition to her dowry," said Ron.

After the lunch, Hermione assisted with cleaning up in the kitchen so that Ginny and Mrs. Weasley could have tea with the couple. She was quite glad for the relative silence, although she could still hear Lavender's excited chatter from the next room. A part of her wondered what married life had in store for Lavender, whose greatest dream had been to find the most eligible man and marry him for as long as Hermione had known her. Would it be what she imagined?

"Hermione, dear! Did you not hear us calling? We're out of sugar."

Lavender stood in the doorway, looking expectantly at Hermione. She was different, this Lavender. She had always had a taste for the more elegant things in life, and had the most fashionable dresses anyone in Ottery St. Catchpole could, but there was a particular air to her – a nauseating satisfaction she now had with her life, which seemed to emanate from her pores. She was in a new dress far more luxurious than those she had seen in town. Hermione wondered who had bought her this new dress, and at what cost.

"I'm sorry, I was lost in thought," Hermione said, wiping her hands on a rag. "I'll get it for you now."

Lavender watched as Hermione reached into the cabinet for the sugar. "You know, Hermione darling, I know you're a stubborn girl – but you really should look into getting married soon. I can't speak enough about married life. It's exactly as I'd always imagined. To be in charge of my own home! All of the parties I can dream of! Of course, we'll likely always have to extend an invitation to Mr. Malfoy, although I find his demeanor quite unpleasant—"

Hermione looked up, nearly spilling the sugar. "Mr. Malfoy?"

Lavender laughed wistfully, raising her fingers to her lips. "Oh, what a naughty thing I let slip, indeed! Mr. Nott shall be very unhappy with me. Of course, you won't tell, will you, Hermione?"

Hermione persisted. "What do you mean you'd have to extend an invitation to Mr. Malfoy?"

Lavender sighed impatiently. "Very well. As long as you don't utter a word of it to anyone. It's been such a burden to keep this secret, anyhow. Mr. Malfoy is the one who found us," Lavender whispered. "He paid for Nott's debts, the wedding, everything – even a little monthly stipend to help us settle comfortably. But you mustn't tell. Mr. Malfoy made it clear to us that his involvement in our affairs was a strictly confidential matter. Honestly, it was a bit insulting at first – Mr. Malfoy thought us charity, and did not want himself tainted by the association! But poor Theo's wages had been withdrawn by his vengeful commanders, and what could a man like Mr. Malfoy do with all that money, anyway—"

She felt dizzy at this discovery. It was almost cruel now, Mr. Malfoy's tendency to shock her even without meaning to.

Hermione shook her head. "But I thought your uncle—"

"Oh yes, my useless Uncle Warwick," Lavender scoffed derisively. "You know, he was drunk and asleep when Mr. Malfoy arrived at his estate. Had to give him a sobering potion to get him to the wedding on time. That man continues to be an embarrassing stain on the Brown family."

Lavender sauntered over and grabbed the sugar dish from her hands, serving her a sickly sweet smile. "But of course, this conversation never happened, did it, dearest Hermione? My deepest thanks for the sugar."

Hermione watched silently as Lavender sashayed back to the sitting room to her captive guests.

ooo

Hermione, again, felt herself at a crossroads regarding this new piece of information about the enigmatic Mr. Malfoy. Lavender had made her promise not to tell a soul – but Hermione found herself thinking hard to find a scenario in which her secret keeping would yet again result in inadvertent harm. This source of anxiety, in addition to the few uncomfortable hours spent with the newlyweds, as well as the shock and longing she felt at the generosity of a man she had once regularly fantasized hexing was enough to keep her feeling as if she was broiling in her own skin.

"I am just glad to see Lavender is happy," Ginny sighed to her, as they retired to their room for the night. "She seems happy, doesn't she?"

Hermione forced a smile. "She does indeed."

"And Mr. Nott… quiet, but not entirely unpleasant."

"As unpleasant as one can be in a room full of people who know the truth of your character," Hermione bitterly quipped. "Even your father could not stand him, Ginny – and your father never despises anyone."

"Father has always found Lavender quite entertaining," Ginny agreed. "It breaks his heart that she's found herself tangled up in the likes of someone like Mr. Nott. But her wedding sounded sweet. I would have liked to have been there. I'm sure she looked lovely."

Hermione stared at Ginny, who had taken to letting down her long hair. She was languidly combing her fingers through her strands, lost in thought.

"There's… something else about the wedding," she said, hesitantly. "Lavender let it slip while we were in the kitchen."

Ginny's fingers paused in her hair. "What is it, Hermione? Your somberness is giving me cause for alarm."

There was suddenly a loud banging on their door, surprising them both. The heads of Fred and George suddenly materialized in their doorway, grinning devilishly. This was never necessarily a good omen for things to come.

"There's someone at the door for you, dearest Ginevra," said George.

"A man, in fact," said Fred.

"A very distinguished man," said George.

"You'd better hurry or Mama will probably spontaneously combust. Today has been entirely too exciting for our dear Matriarch, I'm afraid."

Their heads disappeared and Ginny rushed down the stairs with Hermione closely behind her.

"Mum, who is it?" she called as they finally made it down.

The crowd of Weasleys around the door parted, Mrs. Weasley's eyes shining with hope even in the dim candlelight. Hermione could almost hear Ginny's breath disappear from her lips.

"Good evening, Miss Weasley," a Mr. Blaise Zabini announced from the doorway, bowing. He seemed nervous, but determined. "I must apologize for coming at such an improper time of night, but I could not wait until morning."

* * *

Please review!


	19. An Overdue Engagement

Chapter Nineteen

A/N: What is this? Yes, it is a Christmas miracle!

The Weasleys waited tensely, huddled outside of the door of the drawing room where Mrs. Weasley had led Mr. Zabini and Ginny - under the false pretense of some modicum of privacy. Fred and George's heads were clustered together, trying to listen into an Extendable Ear they had managed to sneak in under the door. Ron played with a practice snitch, which zipped around quietly above his head. Mr. Weasley had taken a seat nearby with the day's issue of the Daily Prophet, which everybody knew he had already read in its entirety, but found no harm in allowing him to keep this façade in an effort to retain his cool, unaffected demeanor. Mrs. Weasley paced anxiously in her dressing gown and robe, wringing her hands.

"I don't know what you're so worried about," Ron said exasperatedly, his practice snitch hovering beside his right ear. "Mr. Zabini is clearly going to propose to Ginny."

Mrs. Weasley sent him a withering look and continued her restless pacing. Hermione could understand Mrs. Weasley's uncertainty. After all, they had all but been convinced Mr. Zabini would propose to Ginny a year earlier. Instead, the wizard had packed up his belongings overnight and left for London quicker than the blink of an eye. This was cause enough to make anyone skeptical of such a hopeful arrival, most especially the mother of a girl whose heart had been broken by the same gentleman once before.

There was a sudden Pop behind Hermione and Ron on the stairwell, giving everyone a scare.

"I heard there's a proposal happening," said the voice of Harry Potter, who had just appeared.

Mrs. Weasley was not pleased. "Harry Potter! I beseech you not to take up the habits of Fred and George and their penchant for startling old women!"

"I apologize, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, clearly not apologetic at all.

Finally, after what seemed like decades, the knob of the door appeared to turn. Fred and George quickly retrieved their Extendable Ear. Mrs. Weasley halted her pacing and nearly stopped breathing. Mr. Weasley looked over the top of his paper.

The door opened to reveal a flushed, beatifically beaming couple.

Not a soul in the house could really be very bothered when Mrs. Weasley let out a delighted shriek loud enough for the neighbor's lights to come on.

ooo

Ottery St. Catchpole was positively abuzz with the news of the engagement. Mrs. Weasley, who had already been possessed with nervous energy before, now wore it in a perpetual sheen bright enough to cast glares in public, though now with a considerable mix of happiness. In addition to helping Ginny plan her upcoming nuptials ("The talk of Wizarding England!"), she was ever rarely home with her numerous social calls.

Mr. Zabini, upon receipt of Ginny's acceptance of his proposal, immediately sent off an owl to purchase Netherfield Park for some generous sum. Hermione thought it quite endearing that the gentleman had not been presumptuous enough to purchase it prior to asking, which to her revealed a possession of humility not often found in men of his stature, and only increased her goodwill towards this gentleman who had been lucky enough to earn the love of her good friend. Even moreso, Hermione was relieved he had chosen to keep Ginny close, instead of whisking her away to an even more impressive manor far away from her family and friends. Distance, after all, was still distance - even with the luxury of magic.

Mr. Zabini leisurely strolled with Hermione on the lush lawns of Netherfield Park, with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley just a few steps behind to discuss the wedding ceremony details. The radiant pair would be having their wedding ceremony on the grounds of Netherfield Park - deemed the only suitable choice of location by the couple as it was the first place they had met.

"Miss Granger, I don't believe I ever got a chance to thank you," Mr. Zabini said, in a quiet voice. Behind them, Hermione could hear Mrs. Weasley debating to herself where the musicians should go, and Ginny being as gentle and agreeable as ever. "For I do not believe I could have achieved such happiness without your help."

Hermione was perplexed. "However do you mean, Mr. Zabini?"

Mr. Zabini sent her a small but knowing smile. "Mr. Malfoy told me in confidence about your encounter with him in the garden at Rosings Park. How you determinedly set out to make him see the error of his ways. He was very humbled, I must tell you." There was a sudden twinkle in his dark eyes. "Never have I seen someone so capable in forcing such a hardheaded man to reconsider his perspective."

Hermione felt herself redden - despite the brisk, early Spring air - and hoped Mr. Zabini was not watching her too closely. She forced her eye line to the neatly trimmed hedges in the distance, all perfect in their symmetry. For a brief moment she had a mental glimpse of how she would look in the library of Pemberley, and felt a lurch in her chest of sadness. She had missed her opportunity, and foolishly so. Mr. Malfoy would not think to renew his sentiments again, and she daresay could not fault him for that.

"It was he who encouraged me to come to The Burrow. But I do not think for one minute he would have done so without your impassioned advocacy."

Hermione feigned a small smile. "I do not think I have it within me to stand silently by while two people so transparently in love with each other are separated due to something as trivial as misconceived affections."

Mr. Zabini let out a pleased chuckle. "You are a worthy friend, indeed. It might surprise you to know that despite your disagreements, you and my dear friend are quite similar. Loyal to the end."

Here Hermione felt the urge to ask if the gentleman in question would be coming for a visit soon, but refrained, and instead distracted herself by the beauty of the day being outdoors, even though it did not quite succeed in vanquishing the lingering thoughts of Mr. Malfoy.

Then again, these days, very little actually did.

ooo

With the Lupins out of town to visit relatives, the shop was Hermione's responsibility to maintain. For the day's lesson, she took the children to Mr. Sculthorpe's greenhouse for a lesson about useful herbs and plants. With his nephew gone and now living in his own cottage at Rosings Park, Mr. Sculthorpe appeared to find genuine enjoyment in spending time with the children and teaching them about the perks of his livelihood.

After dismissing the children for the day, Hermione returned to the shop and assisted a few customers, before spending some time cataloging and doing a bit of studying on her own. She received an owl from the Lupins, just a few sentences letting her know they were getting along, and that they had been able to stop by Hogwarts for a brief time.

 _Looking forward to sharing some exciting news!_ Mr. Lupin had written to her. Hermione wondered what that meant. Perhaps a permanent teaching position for him at Hogwarts?

It was dark outside the shop's windows when Hermione emerged from the shop basement, covered in a thick layer of dust and her arms full of books. She was startled by a sharp knocking at the shop door, which had magically locked after the posted hours of service. However, as Hermione opened the door to let them know to come by tomorrow, she was shocked to find she recognized the lady, and that she was indeed a long way from home.

"Lady Bellatrix," Hermione said, immediately stepping aside to let her in.

Her Ladyship marched in with her usual authority, head held high, narrowed eyes scanning the perimeter with what seemed like an immediate judgment on everything within her view. She wore velvet, burgundy robes that would have been sure to stand out in town during the daylight due to their sense of highborn luxury. In her clutches she held a cane of dark mahogany, topped with a silver head of a snake bearing its fangs and twinkling emeralds for eyes.

"So this is where you work," Lady Bellatrix said, with a tinge of barely muted disdain. "A Muggleborn shopkeeper for ancient magical artifacts."

"The real shopkeepers are the Lupins. I'm just helping while they're out visiting relatives," Hermione said, cordially yet cautiously. The hardly repressed slight was not lost on her, but she knew better than to be baited. "If you're here to see them, I can make you an appointment for when they return. They should be back within a few days. Or, I can happily assist you with what you're looking for."

"You have done enough, thank you," Lady Bellatrix barked, surprising Hermione for a second time. The woman's hostility was now fully unleashed, and radiated from her in potent waves of unpleasantness. Hermione could hardly guess the reason was for such antagonism.

Hermione's look of confusion only seemed to anger Lady Bellatrix more. "Do you honestly mean to tell me you cannot guess the reason for my visit at this uncivilized hour?"

"I apologize, your Ladyship. I do not."

"A rumor of the most repulsive nature has reached my estate that I cannot and simply will not allow to come to fruition. I have every reason to believe you were its originator. Will you confirm to be the conjurer of such perverse gossip?"

Hermione's confusion deepened. "I apologize again, Ma'am, for I truly do not know anything about a rumor, nor can I muster the slightest guess for your visit."

Lady Bellatrix sucked in a sharp breath, as if Hermione's ignorance caused her further offense. "Has my nephew, Mr. Malfoy, made an offer of marriage to you or not?"

Hermione was stunned. How was it possible this had reached Lady Bellatrix's ears? She had not told a soul, and she was quite certain Mr. Malfoy was not the type to flaunt marriage proposal rejections.

Lady Bellatrix appeared to receive Hermione's shocked silence as confirmation. "You dirty Muggleborn wench," she spat. "The lows you would go, bewitching him with a love potion, just to get your hands on his property and riches. Mr. Malfoy is to be engaged to my daughter, and not even your wicked methods can prevent this. I am reporting you to the Ministry immediately. You'll be sent to Azkaban-"

"I have done no such thing," Hermione interrupted. "You may test him if you like, but I have not 'bewitched' your nephew by any means. Whatever he has done, he has done of his own free will."

The Lady's eyes widened, as if shocked by her response, before her features sharpened. Hermione could only guess at the few number of souls who had ever mustered the bravery to speak to her Ladyship this way.

"So you confirm this, then. That he has proposed to you."

"I would ask you to speak to your nephew before you interrupt a perfectly lovely night with accusations and threats," she said sternly. "You said yourself he is to be engaged to your daughter. I find it odd, with every confidence you've said to habor for your nephew, that you would come here with an agenda to contradict it."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "I know what your intentions are, Miss Granger. I can see through your little country girl ruse. You will never deserve him. The Malfoys have been Purebloods since the beginning of time, and even Draco knows not to dishonor his family's legacy by tainting it with the likes of your kind. You are nothing but a poor, Muggleborn, orphan. You were born that way, and you will die that way. No amount of magic can change that. See my nephew again, and you will wish you were in Azkaban."

And with one last glare withering enough to petrify flesh into stone, in a lush flurry of velvet and emerald, Lady Bellatrix Disapparated away.

ooo

Over the next few days, Hermione replayed the incident with Lady LeStrange in her head more times than she would care to admit. Even when she focused her mental will into thinking of other things, focusing on other tasks - the shop, the chidren's lessons, Ginny's wedding - she would find herself waking up in the middle of the night, caught in a cold sweat, having just dreamt of Lady Bellatrix's cutting words all over again. Some nights, the silver snake on the Lady's cane would come alive and devour her whole, while Lady Bellatrix's cackles echoed through the night in victory.

On numerous occasions she had been tempted to send an owl to Mr. Malfoy, detailing her unpleasant encounter with his aunt - only to discard her parchment out of frustration. Mr. Malfoy had naught to do with what had happened. If anything, he would have tried everything in his power to prevent it. Lady Bellatrix had come in her own righteous rage - to protect the bloodline from any potential taint, especially one that came in the likes of her. Hermione offended her not only by her blood, but by her confidence in her magical abilities, her poverty, her simple associations, and her unwillingness to defer to the Lady's wishes. In all of her life, Hermione had never fathomed she could make such a powerful enemy.

She thought of telling Ginny, but did not want to negatively affect her mood regarding all of the wedding preparations by making her worry. After all, her wedding was just one month away. Hermione could perhaps avoid Lady Bellatrix there. After all, Lady Bellatrix was still one for maintaining an image - she would not dare to verbally assault Hermione there, with such a varied audience. Or so she liked to believe.

There was a knock on the door, before Ginny entered. She appeared flushed.

"Hermione, an owl came for you just now. I apologize. Mama opened it, she thought it was about the wedding -"

There was a look on her face that alarmed Hermione. "What is it, Ginny?"

She held the opened letter out to her. It wasn't like any letter she'd received before, by its appearance. It seemed more formal, and she did not recognize the seal.

"You'd better read it for yourself," Ginny breathed. "It's from Hogwarts."


End file.
